ONE

Watertown

Tuesday Morning:

Project Bluechip

Major Richard Weston

He read the report twice and then
carefully set it back on his desk. Johns or Kohlson: One of the two had stolen
samples of SS-V2765. It was not a question. No one else had the access, no one
else the proximity or knowledge of where it was stored. Two of the viruses, one
each of the REX agents were missing. Enough to infect several million people
and that was just the initial infection. From there the infected would go on to
infect even more, where it stopped was anyone’s guess.

Knowing it was one of the two did not
solve the problem of how for him though: There should have been no way to get
it out. Every area of the facility was under surveillance. There had to be more
than just one of the two involved.

From Complex C they were stripped
down, showered: Out of the showers naked and into a locker room where they
could retrieve their own personal clothing they had stripped out of that
morning: Dressed, frisked, metal wanded and then allowed into the elevators
that would take them six stories to the surface. This theft was not something
either of them could have committed alone.

“Alice.” He picked up the report from
his desk. “I have a problem… A problem that requires your… Expertise. Two fold… First; all the
guard and camera operators for C Complex are to be relieved of duty. You will
personally interrogate them and find out which of them took a payoff to look
the other way… Our boys, Johns and Kohlson… Both or one smuggled out the
virus.” He paused… “It hardly matters in the scheme of things, it changes
nothing, but it is the principle of the thing.” He tossed her the report. “Read
it… Quartermaster’s office… Handle that too?” Alice nodded before she bent
and looked over the thick report. “Second thing is the virus agent, and the REX
agents are out there somewhere.” Alice raised her head from the report. “Find
it and bring it back?” Alice nodded once more before her head dipped low again;
eyes devouring the report. Weston leaned back in his chair, the cigar that was
a near permanent fixture in his mouth, rolling from side to side as he closed
his eyes and rubbed at his temples. “It goes without saying… They’re all
expendable,” he added as an afterthought.

“Sir,” Alice said before she returned
to reading.

Ecuador

Jefferson Prescott’s Estate

Wednesday Morning

Andrea Zurita had been alive for the
second time for more than three days. The men who had left her body had done so
carefully: Senor Prescott would be very angry to find them on his land.
Transgressions had been met with violence in the past, the bodies dumped into
the ocean.

Andrea Ivanna Zurita had taken I’ll
three days before in the small village near to Prescott’s property. She worked
for Prescott, someone allowed on and off the property with ease. She had taken
ill at work suddenly, no one knew the why of it and her family was poor: A
doctor, other than the local clinic, was out of the question. So, she had been
sent home to rest, but she had never made it to the local free clinic: She had
lapsed into a coma a few hours later and while her family had still been reeling, she had died. No rhyme, no reason.

Andrea Zurita was a young woman, there
seemed no reason for her sudden illness and death, but there were things that
should be done and so the local Mirukus, shaman
had come. A few words, prayers, the shaman was a transplanted Haitian. They
understood most of what he said, but not everything. He had left and they had
prepared her for burial. She was washed and dressed in a plain white cotton
dress. The second day came, and the family came to call, leaving their wishes
where she lay in her grandmother’s home. The third day came, and the burial was
coming. Cousins, men who worked in a neighboring village, were on the way to
open the grave. That was when Andrea had sat up and vomited blood.

Her eyes had rolled back into her
head. Her body shaken, but her chest did not rise. She had spoken no words, but
she had tried to rise several times before one of the arriving cousins,
crossing himself, had bound her with rope, hand and foot. They had sent for the
Mirukus again.

The old Haitian had come quickly,
taken one look at Andrea and then spoken cryptically, quickly. “Return her to
the man that has cast this spell on her. He has bound her to him in life and
that has followed her into death. Return her for she is yours no longer.”

The Mirukus believed the white man,
Prescott, had attempted to control the river spirit Pullujmu, to take control
of the beautiful young woman for his own devices, but she had slipped over into
death and was now controlled only by those who controlled the dead. He had left
fearfully, quickly and had refused to come back for any reason. With nothing
left to do for her they had taken her and left her bound body on the long drive
that lead to the Prescott house. The white man may have her, but he would not
have what he expected to have.

Jefferson Prescott.

Jefferson watched as the men carefully
skirted the body of the young woman in the back of the patrol truck. They had
picked her up and, not knowing what else to do, they had bought her to him.

Her eyes rolled in her head, but
occasionally they would stop and focus, seeming to stare through him. Blood
seeped from her open mouth, staining the front of what looked to be a burial
garb of some sort. She was, at first, unrecognizable to him until one of the
men told him she was his own worker, Andrea Ivanna Zurita: Kitchen help, among
other things, she had been here for more than a year. To Jefferson’s Catholic
upbringing she seemed possessed, and he kept his distance as he watched her,
perhaps as superstitious as the local shaman had been.

He had eventually made the phone call
to the Policía Nacional del Ecuador and left the matter in their hands. He had
seen stranger than this in his time in Ecuador and had no doubt he would see it
again. He sent one of his men into the small village with a thousand dollars in
U.S. Currency, Ecuador had no currency of its own, for her family. A thousand
dollars would go a long way for a poor family living in an equally poor
village.

His phone had chimed, and he had
excused himself to answer it. He was needed back in Manhattan; Ben Neo had
found the answers he required. He pushed the problem of Andrea Zurita from his
mind and concentrated on plans to leave that evening and return to Manhattan.

The Policía Nacional del Ecuador had
come some hours later, taken her off his hands without question, as though they
saw this sort of thing every day and he had never heard another thing about it
or given it another thought. He had taken his private helicopter back to the
United States later in the day as though nothing of any significance had
occurred.

Manhattan

Wednesday evening

“You have a beautiful view, Mr.
Prescott,” Ben Neo said. He stood on the balcony of the top floor of
Prescott’s building which was his home in Manhattan and where his wife and two
daughters lived full-time.

“I am rarely here,” Prescott
said. “But I do enjoy the view when I am. My wife and daughters seem to
like it too. My eldest daughter, Lita, seems to enjoy it more than my wife
Esmeralda or my youngest Mia.” His eyes slid to Carlos who met them with
his own. “But we’re working on that, aren’t we?” His comments seemed
directed a Carlos. Carlos nodded. Not sure what he should say or do. “We
are,” Prescott said. He sipped at his drink. “Are we all set for
tomorrow?” he asked Carlos?

“We are,” Carlos said.
“We’ll drive back to Rochester later tonight.”

“You own a home there?” He
turned to Neo.

“Yes. Everything is there; we’ll
take it from there to the meet in Watertown. Carlos will go with that, I’ll
pick up the cash and then meet your guys there,” Neo said.

Prescott nodded. “It seems like Tommy, and I should just dispense with all the drama and just deliver the stuff
directly to each other,” he said. He laughed, “But that would put
both of you out of a job. And there are so many things I can’t handle as well
or don’t have the time or inclination to handle, as well as you two.”

He was interrupted by Carlos’ cell
phone ringing. Carlos’ dark face flushed with embarrassment. “I’m
sorry,” he said, obviously not about to answer it. He fumbled it out of
his pocket ready to shut it off.

“No, no,” Prescott said.
“We were done. Take your call. It is all right, Carlos. Take it out here
on the balcony. Benjamin and I will give you a little privacy… Won’t we,
Ben?” he asked.

Ben nodded and they both stepped
through into the living room and pulled the sliding glass door shut.

“Hello,” Carlos said,
obviously upset. He listened. “I cannot believe you called me here,”
he said. His voice was high and panicked. “Are you crazy? Did you know he
was here with me? Right here with me?
He is in the living room separated by a few pieces of glass. You are crazy. Crazy,” he took a couple of deep
breaths while she spoke. “No… That is even crazier! While he is right
here? Meet you with him in the house? Are you trying to get me killed…? No? It seems as though you are… It
does… No… How…? How will he not know?” He listened for a few minutes
glancing nervously through the glass, but Neo and Prescott stood with their
backs to him over by the bar.

“Lita,” he said at last,
“I will meet you… Nothing else… I have to leave later on…”

She continued to talk.

~

Ben stood silently drinking his drink.
The two voices came clearly through the small scanner behind the bar. They
listened to the conversation between Lita and Carlos.

“Did you know, Ben that they were
simply radio signals, and they can be picked up easily?” Prescott asked.

“Yes… I did… Although I did
not realize it could be done this easily,” Neo said.

“Cheap frequency scanner. I only
need to know the frequency.” He sighed. “I’m sorry you are a witness
to this embarrassment. I treated him like a son… She is my daughter. He has
obviously corrupted her… Take him down through the basement, leave that
way… Bring me back what I requested, Ben. I would almost do it myself; right
now, but I will not bring murder into my home… Call me?” he asked.

Neo nodded. It was obvious that the
conversation was over. Prescott reached behind the bar and flicked off the
scanner. He pulled his phone from his pocket and punched in a number.

“Yes… Bring Mr. Neo’s car to
the basement elevator… Thank you.” He hung up just as Carlos came back
in through the sliding glass doors, rubbing his arms.

“A little cool, eh?”
Prescott asked.

“A little,” Carlos answered.
“About the phone call,” he started.

Prescott held up his hand. “Not
necessary. Besides, we have had a change in plans. Ben here, along with you,
will drive back now. A little earlier than we planned, but apparently Mr. Neo
needs to take care of something for Tommy this evening… So… You, see?”
He shook Neo’s hand. “Your car is waiting at the basement entrance.”
He looked to Carlos, but his face was a mask: Unreadable. Carlos said goodbye
and followed Neo to the elevator.

On the road

The idiot lights came on: Ben’s Ford
bucked twice and then died. Carlos looked over from where he had been watching
the lights of Manhattan slip away. They were in an abandoned industrial area on
their way across the city.

“Not good,” Carlos said.
“Especially here.”

“Hopefully it’s not a big
deal,” Neo said. “And who would be stupid enough to mess with
us?” he asked. He laughed and Carlos joined in. “I think it’s a loose
wire. It happened once before,” Neo said. He coasted the car to a stop and
shifted into park. He reached down, pulled the release handle and the hood
popped up.