Killer Thrillers Box Set: 3 Techno-Thriller, Action/Adventure Science Fiction Thrillers Page 8

  And Bryce had failed him.

  The realization of that failure came on him like a brick to the head. He was upset with himself for letting Whittenfield down; for getting Behar shot and Bensen killed and the Thompsons beat up; but one piece of the puzzle nagged at him, keeping his mind in the game.

  “If Vilocek wanted something from you, your father’s journal, how did he know about your research? hell, how did he even know about you and this place?”

  Whittenfield sighed heavily, the events finally coming full circle and weighing on his heart with a heaviness he hadn’t experienced in a long time. “Bryce, all of you — I need your help. Tanning Vilocek must not achieve his goal. This pure substance — whatever it is — must not end up in his hands. Vilocek will do whatever it takes to acquire that substance, and he will destroy anyone or anything in his way to do it.”

  “You see, Vilocek is a man I feel I know intimately. I have never met him, but my father knew his father well. They were close friends and colleagues.

  “I remember their long talks in my father’s study when I was a boy — I understood little about what they talked about, but they would stay in there for hours together, arguing, talking, laughing.”

  Bryce had a feeling he knew where Whittenfield was heading.

  “Tanning Vilocek’s father was also a member of that original research team that made up the ‘Development of Substitute Materials Project.’ Enko Vilocek wanted to push forward and help create the bomb, and he went on to work at the Los Alamos laboratory during World War II. My father and Enko Vilocek had differing opinions of what to do with their research, and when my father resigned from the project and took his research with him, Enko never forgave him. He tried stealing the research a few times over the years until his death in the sixties, but he never got far.

  “However, I suspect he did take one thing from my father: the original piece of the material that my father was able to duplicate. We’ve been working with the duplicate ever since, knowing that it was a copy, a synthetic replica of a pure substance, but I never imagined that it might already be in Vilocek’s possession,” Whittenfield shook his head.

  “So,” Cole said, “they’ve figured out that you’re close to a breakthrough, and wanted to see if your father’s old notebooks had any insight into where this object came from. Mr. Whittenfield, do you have any of these journals we could take a look at?”

  “Of course — but I’ve scoured the notebooks numerous times, looking for some sort of earlier reference to the substance, and I’ve not found anything. But if you’d like to try, I’ve got one right here.“

  He walked to a far corner of the room, where an overhead projector sat unharmed on a rolling cart. There was a stack of files on the projector, with a brownish, faded leather journal wedged in between.

  “We had a public presentation this afternoon,” Whittenfield explained to Cole. “It was a small gathering of members of the scientific community in the area. I’m part of a philanthropic outreach team that meets once a quarter to discuss the impact of our research, and I used one of the journals as an exhibit.” He handed the journal to Bryce. “It had nothing to do with the material Vilocek was after…” His voice trailed off.

  Bryce flipped through the small notebook, scanning sections of text every few pages. Shrugging, he held it out to Cole.

  Cole reached for the notebook, but his hand stopped in midair.

  “What the… ?” Cole breathed. Bryce, holding out the journal, looked down. The journal was inches away from Cole’s hand, which was emitting a faint bluish glow from the tips of the fingers to a few inches below the wrist.

  Cole jerked his hand back, wide-eyed. Everyone in the group leaned in to look, but his skin had returned to its normal hue.

  “Woah,” Wayne muttered.

  Bryce moved closer to Cole, who was visibly shaken. Bryce extended the journal toward Cole, whose skin — this time over his entire body — again turned a light blue, causing him to glow like a faint blue lightbulb.

  Cole reluctantly took the leather-bound journal from Bryce, and opened it. As his finger touched the first page, a swirling text begin to appear, superimposed on top of the original entries from Whittenfield’s father. Whittenfield immediately recognizing his father’s handwriting, grabbed both the journal and Cole’s open hand, leaving it touching the page.

  He read the newly revealed handwriting aloud from the top of the page: “After countless efforts and countless days of trial, it seems as though there is no immediately substitutable elemental material that can warrant the same effects as the original. We are lucky to have the duplicate, though without the original source, our attempts at creating a suitable alternative have failed.

  “We will continue to test the properties of this duplicate material, and our assumption and hypothesis shall be that the pure form of the material, now lost to us for some years, would have the same reactions with the elemental matter, though on a much more powerful scale.”

  Whittenfield’s voice and hands started to shake. “They created the substance as a duplicate. Vilocek’s father must have stolen the original, leaving the much-weaker substance to my father. And you, Mr. Reed — they must have injected you with something that reacts with whatever this ink is made of — do you remember anything of that sort?”

  Cole looked around at the group and shook his head. “No — I told you, all I remember were the physical exertion tests, fitness exams, IQ assessments, and — “

  He stopped for moment. “Now that I think of it, I only remember about two days of my time there. On the third morning I woke up and felt like I’d been asleep for much longer. Maybe I was drugged…”

  The group sat silently, trying to piece it all together.

  The break-in by Vilocek’s men, and the attempt to steal one of the journals.

  One of their own killed, and another seriously wounded.

  The rescue of Cole Reed, who for some reason glowed like a blue firefly when close to the journal.

  And finally, the fact that they were the only people besides Vilocek and his team who knew about the material and its potential. And Vilocek was obviously willing to kill to get the journals.

  Whittenfield gathered himself. “Gentlemen, we have work to do. Reynolds, get your men ready to travel. I’m going to call in a few favors and see if I can’t get us some help. Mr. Reed, I hate to impose, but it seems that you have a unique… ability… If you’re interested — “

  Cole cut him off. “I’m going. There was a girl there — next to where I was held. I’m not sure who she was, but I know she was there against her will. If there’s any way I can do something to help her, I’m all yours.”

  Bryce took in Whittenfield’s reaction. He knew dragging a civilian along would only complicate things, and possibly threaten their mission. But he couldn’t deny that if there was something in that journal that might lead them to the substance, they needed Reed with them in order to read it. He gave Whittenfield an almost imperceptible nod.

  “I hate to burst your bubble, guys,” Wayne said, “but where the hell are we supposed to go? We have no idea where this Vilocek is…”

  Jeff broke out into a wide grin. “I might be able to help with that.”

  The others all looked at him.

  “When I tackled that gorilla earlier, I didn’t have anything to hit him with. I knew I couldn’t slow him down for long, so I stuck my cell phone into an empty pouch on his equipment belt.”

  Wayne grinned, slugging his brother’s shoulder.

  “We can use the GPS on the phone to pinpoint their movement, but let’s just hope you don’t get a call anytime soon!”

  Whittenfield looked at Bryce. “Let’s get going. We’re already well behind, so we’ll be playing catch-up for a while. I’ll get you a laptop rig for tracking Vilocek’s team. Be ready to lift off in two hours.”

  CHAPTER 16

  6:59 PM - ATLANTIC OCEAN

  The main laboratory inside Whittenfield’s large per
sonal jet had been rigged as a communications facility. Whittenfield couldn’t accompany Bryce and his team in person for the more physical portions of the mission, but he wasn’t about to be left out entirely. He would contribute from the airborne lab, where he now sat at a small desk, configuring the numerous modems, cables, and wires that would serve as his command post for the next few days.

  The Thompson brothers were asleep in the passenger compartment, reclined in their leather seats and surrounded by duffel bags full of equipment.

  The remainder of the group was spread out throughout the plane’s cabin. Bryce Reynolds was planning and organizing his thoughts on a laptop while Cole Reed napped in a seat across the aisle from Bryce. Two new team members sat toward the front of the cabin, keeping mostly to themselves. Sean Bartlinski and Gary McGowan were soldiers for hire with connections in Whittenfield’s organization, and though they had been cordial enough when they joined the team at the airport, it was obvious they weren’t here to make new friends. Bryce hoped they were able to follow orders, but judging by their smirks and snide comments, he figured they’d be more of a nuisance than an asset. Bryce just prayed they’d know which direction to fire when the shooting started.

  The plane was heading toward Barcelona, Spain, for a refuel, then a short hop over the Mediterranean to Cairo. Jeff Thompson’s jury-rigged tracking device had worked wonders, allowing them to track Vilocek and his men all the way to Egypt. The only problem was that they weren’t sure how much battery life was left in the phone. Or if Agent Beka had figured out that he’d been duped and led them on a wild-goose chase around the globe.

  Cole had been up for hours after their briefing, reading through the pages of the journal. He’d painstakingly copied down the texts written in invisible ink into another notebook, and when he’d finished the entire journal, Whittenfield had come in with an entire box of his father’s journals and notebooks. Cole spent the rest of the night and into the following morning translating those.

  Most of the journals were empty, just research regarding other projects and assignments Whittenfield, Sr., worked on over the course of his long career. Most of it had nothing to do with the strange substance that had consumed his son’s professional life, but it made for fascinating reading nonetheless. Cole read about defense contracts and weapons developments that had never seen the light of day, mostly due to a lack of financial backing. In some cases, however, the projects had been fully funded and the research and consequent prototyping had been completely successful. These projects — about 40 percent, by Cole’s best guess — were simply abandoned for economic or political reasons: the end of a major war, change in administration, et cetera. It seemed like most of Whittenfield Sr.’s work was groundbreaking and cutting-edge for its time, but it had, for the most part, been all but forgotten.

  Some of the journals, however, did have references to the mysterious substance. Apparently it was a crystalline solid — like a piece of quartz, the almost perfectly translucent crystal mineral that was found inside geodes and used for things like jewelry and industrial and commercial products. One journal, dated April 1946, described the mineral:

  …The substance appears similar in structure to the common mineral quartz. It is solid, sharp at the edges. In the presence of natural and artificial light the rock emits an almost bluish glow, faint but bright enough to be noticeable. It is this particular element of the mineral, though we do not at this time know what it is, that we believe to be the variable that creates the mysterious properties we’ve experienced.

  As well, it is through the extraction and attempted duplication of this substance that we have continued the study of the mineral’s properties. Last month, Dr. Enko Vilocek stole the original artifact and disappeared with it. Half of my team left with him, and I am now struggling to recreate my experiments with the duplicate substance, though the properties are not nearly as powerful…

  The earlier journals had no mention of the rock, nor did they have any bluish hidden ink at all. Cole explained this to Whittenfield, who had a theory as to why.

  “Well, assuming your ability to read this ‘invisible ink’ is related to whatever sort of tests and injections Vilocek subjected you to, I’d wager that it’s also related to whatever they’ve found within that rock. Remember, Vilocek also has had a ‘duplicate synthetic’ copy of the original, and he’s had the original in his possession for many years.”

  “So whatever it is that causes this rock to emanate the bluish glow is also what your father extracted from the original mineral,” Cole asked.

  “Exactly — and he somehow managed to transfer that property into a liquid — his ‘invisible ink,' except that instead of being visible in light, he made the ink only visible in the presence of the mineral. Knowing that whoever would find the crystal later would want to know more about it and therefore search for his journals, he made sure that they would have to have both the journals and the rock in their possession.”

  “…Or in their bloodstream,” Cole added sarcastically.

  Bryce chimed in as the plane lurched through some turbulence. “So, we know that Vilocek’s on his way to Egypt, but do we know where exactly?”

  “No,” Whittenfield said, “but I ran another trace a moment ago. Jeff’s phone is still transmitting, and their movement has all but stopped somewhere just south of Cairo. I don’t know for sure, but I’d bet they’re heading to the Great Pyramid of Giza.”

  “Actually, that makes sense,” Cole said, reaching into the box at his feet and pulling out one of the journals. “I found something here that I couldn’t figure out, and there’s no mention of it anywhere else.” He thumbed through the book, finally stopping near the back.

  “At first I thought it was just a random doodle, or something unrelated to the crystal. But the more I thought about it, I realized he wouldn’t have used the invisible ink to write a doodle.”

  Whittenfield and Bryce leaned in, looking at the page Cole had opened to.

  “It looks like Washington, D.C.,” Bryce said after a moment, “but just the streets and intersections. See, here’s where Whittenfield Research would be.”

  “I think you’re right, Bryce,” Whittenfield said. “I can make out Pennsylvania Avenue — this main line running through the center of the image. And there’s where the Capitol Building and the White House would be.”

  “But what’s the triangle around it?” Cole asked. “And the circled area at the bottom?”

  “It does resemble a pyramid…” Whittenfield said. “Could the Giza pyramid be what my father was intending to get across?”

  “But why would he put a map of an American city behind it?”

  Whittenfield looked for a moment at the bluish writing on the page, then ran his thumbnail across the bottom edge. There was a small, almost imperceptible fold that subtly interrupted the pattern. He gently flattened out the fold, revealing a string of words directly below the drawing, where the bottom of the pyramid would be.

  Potomac River, location of original (Lower Room?)

  “The original?” Bryce asked. “Is that the original piece of the rock he’s referring to?”

  “Could be — maybe his team found the crystal at the bottom of the river. The reference to the Lower Room fits the description of one of Giza’s inner sanctums. Maybe that’s where Vilocek’s headed now, thinking that’s where the pure crystal, the original original substance is hidden there.” Whittenfield stressed the first “original,” as if implying that the ‘original material’ Vilocek and Whittenfield, Sr. had been in contact with was a small part of a larger crystal.

  “So,” Bryce said, “we go to Giza. Follow Vilocek into the Great Pyramid, and figure out what he’s looking for. We get it before Vilocek does, and get out alive — all while dodging the Egyptian authorities and a couple of thousand tourists.” Bryce’s assessment didn’t seem overly optimistic.

  “Exactly,” Whittenfield said. “Like I said, we have our work cut out for us.”

  CHA
PTER 17

  NO ONE KNOWS EXACTLY WHO built the Great Pyramid at Giza, or for that matter, how they accomplished the monstrous task. The assumption, of course, is that the ancient Egyptians — most likely using tens of thousands of slaves — laid each rock in place one at a time until the massive structure was completed. They say the Egyptians were building a tomb for their ruler, the Pharaoh, that would serve as both a final resting place as well as an embarkation point from which the Pharaoh would rise to the heavens and take over as the god Osiris.

  While the pyramids certainly did serve as graves for the highest Egyptian rulers and leaders, Pharaohs included, how an ancient civilization designed and constructed them is still a mystery. Modern research and archeological evidence suggests that humans alone — unaided — would have an absolutely terrible time trying to lift and fit each block into place.

  The Great Pyramid, while considered finished, looks rather unfinished. This is due to the lack of an apex — the top of the pyramid seems to be cut off about thirty feet below the natural pinnacle. Scholars and Egyptologists have speculated that this capstone, the last piece of the pyramid to be placed, would have been about thirty feet across and an exact scale replica of its mother pyramid below it. No one has heard or read any account of a capstone ever being completed, placed on top, or even seen, for that matter. We are left to speculation as to the original builders’ intent — was it meant to go without a capstone? Or was it simply scavenged and looted during one of the many raids of the Giza pyramid complex over the millennia?

  Finished during the Fourth Dynasty in 2560 B.C., the Great Pyramid, or the Pyramid of Cheops, was built in a 20-year period of pharaoh Khufu’s reign, and consists of about 2.3 million blocks, the largest weighing in at over 80 tons (160,000 pounds). These blocks were carried or dragged from Aswan, about 500 miles away, over the sand. To put the building of the structure into perspective, based on renowned Egyptologist Sir Flanders Petrie’s measurements, there would need to have been about 5 blocks put into place every minute of every hour of every day for 20 years.