Fabric of Man

By PW Abbenhaus

Someone is cloning Jesus.

After centuries of speculation, Dr. Gabe Miller is going to Turin, Italy. His task is to once and for all verify the authenticity of the Shroud of Turin – the purported burial cloth of Jesus Christ. However, that is not why he is really going. Unknown to Dr. Miller, he is being sent to steal blood samples from the Shroud. His company has perfected a way to use DNA from any blood samples to recumbently clone humans. In Italy, Dr. Miller is protected by the head of Vatican Security, Father Dolan, a reformed mercenary who has a closet full of skeletons that he is atoning for. Miller has no idea of what he is getting into, but quickly discovers that people want him dead. As Dolan protects Miller, they uncover the real secret behind the trip to Turin, but not before a woman is impregnated with the clone. Miller and Dolan know they have to rescue the pregnant women. Once they do, the trio is hunted across the United States by a multitude of fanatical groups.

The Shroud of Turin has been in public awareness since 1350 when it was brought to France after the Second Crusades. It has become the Catholic Church's most visible and sacred relic. Wars have been fought over it. The Church has been protecting it for over five hundred years. Why? Is the Shroud of Turin real? If so, what of the pregnant women? Can she be carrying the second coming of Jesus?

Start the journey that is woven into the Fabric of Man.

• Language: English
• Publisher: PW Abbenhaus
• Release date: Nov 8, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301258758

PW Abbenhaus

Thanks for stopping by. If you are here, you want to know some things about me and this book. About me, I am married, have four kids, and a dog. I am, more or less, a serial Midwesterner. Thanks to everyone who posted a review on either book. I really appreciate it. It was helpful for me, as when someone posted the eBook version was missing words and what not, I reviewed the .pub file and made corrections. It is hit or miss when you upload. Plus, I think the conversion messed up the Word formatting. Either way, I apologize for any remaining omissions, typo's, poor grammar. I am sure my editors are still in therapy for my liberal usage of the English language, however, corralling 100,000 words in the right order is no small task. I hope you like my books. I loved writing them. Cheers, PW Abbenhaus

Book preview

Fabric of Man

P.W. Abbenhaus

Copyright © 2011 by P. W. Abbenhaus

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved.

Table of Contents

Chapter_1

Chapter_2

Chapter_3

Chapter_4

Chapter_5

Chapter_6

Chapter_7

Chapter_8

Chapter_9

Chapter_10

Chapter_11

Chapter_12

Chapter_13

Chapter_14

Chapter_15

Chapter_16

Chapter_17

Chapter_18

Chapter_19

Chapter_20

Chapter_21

Chapter_22

Chapter_23

Chapter_24

Chapter_25

Chapter_26

Chapter_27

Chapter_28

Chapter_29

Chapter_30

Chapter_31

Chapter_32

Chapter_33

Chapter_34

Chapter_35

Chapter_36

Chapter_37

Chapter_38

Chapter_39

Chapter_40

Chapter_41

Chapter_42

Chapter_43

Chapter_44

Chapter_45

Epilogue

Trinity Laboratories

St. Louis, Missouri

Thursday, February 17th, 2004

(9:35 AM local)

Courtesy of an undergraduate degree in biology and six grueling years of master’s and doctoral work in chemical and molecular engineering, Dr. Gabe Miller had a complete and thorough understanding that 75% of the human body is liquid. Every human being is really just a large bag of fluid in a flimsy flesh covering. What Gabe was finding surprising was the fact that upon release, our life-sustaining liquid flows with remarkable determination. He was being treated to this practical display of fluid dynamics by the sizable crimson streams rapidly welling into dark red pools just a few inches from his face.

Gabe calmly closed his eyes and thought through recent events. He remembered being in the Eden lab and pulling the fire suppression alarm. There were people with him. He remembered deafening sirens and a fire door closing just behind him. There was a flash and a deafening noise. Those were gunshots. Yes, that was it. Everything snapped sharply into focus as if he’d been doused with ice water. This was his blood. He had been shot. 66 percent.

Panicked, Gabe tried to move, but his body didn’t respond. He couldn’t lift his face off the cool tile floor.

That’s just great, he thought. Here I am sprawled-out, facedown on the floor like the catch of the day watching my blood form shallow pools.

Gabe noticed something as he began planning his next course of action from his very limited options. He wasn’t in any pain. The bullet, or bullets — he wasn’t entirely sure — had just ripped through him, leaving a tingling sort of pins and needles numbness. He regarded that as a huge positive since he didn’t have a very high pain threshold.

Unfortunately, his newly discovered silver lining was quickly tarnishing because his blood had now begun to mount a mercurial advance toward his face. Gabe feebly tried to blow the blood away, divert it, as it crept slowly toward him. This had no effect. He quickly realized two things: First, the blood was going to be really disgusting when it got to his face. Two, number one wouldn’t matter too much because this amount of blood would mean that most of his fluid was outside his body. 54 percent

Gabe closed his eyes again, reflecting upon how he’d ended up like this. It was quite a strange turn of events. Just two weeks ago he was peacefully staring into his computer monitor, performing the dreary tasks that defined his life. There was no Vatican, no lunatics from the Order, no mysterious plots, no guns, none of that. He existed happily at the center of his own little world.

How things can change.

Even though this was probably it for him, Gabe felt at peace. For once in his life, he had done the right thing. His sacrifice had been noble and honorable. All was right with the world.

Gabe started to mentally transition to his next phase of existence. He clung to the notion that his recent actions had to qualify him for an appearance before the Pearly Gates. It had to be a slam-dunk. He had given his life so someone else could live. All things considered, this someone had to be of great importance to God, the Holy Spirit, or whoever was keeping score up there. No matter how brief Gabe’s appearance might be, it was going to be a stop to the right place. Another plus. 39 percent.

Abruptly, Gabe felt himself being dragged across the floor and unceremoniously propped up against a wall. Hello, pain. The sudden movement left him feeling as if a red-hot poker had been shoved into his stomach. His head throbbed, and he started to black out.

Dr. Miller, an angry voice snarled from somewhere. Stay with me.

He knew that voice.

Father? Gabe called out.

Gabe tried to focus, but his field of vision was an indistinct gray, smudged by the stabbing pain. Faintly, he could feel his lab coat and shirt being ripped open. Something was shoved hard against his chest. It really hurt. As his head involuntarily lolled up toward the ceiling, he caught the determined grimace of Father Dolan. 32 percent.

Oh my God, a shocked voice cried out. It was a female voice. It had to be Beth’s voice. That was good. They had gotten her out of the lab, or he was pretty sure they had. Things were a little confusing.

With all his strength Gabe gasped, You have to leave. As he spoke, he felt something warm leaving his mouth. He knew it was blood.

I can’t leave you here, Gabe, Father Dolan said resolutely. I can’t.

But Gabe was right. They had to leave. If they stayed much longer, they would never leave this place. They had seconds. Gabe felt Father Dolan take his hand and place something in his palm. Dolan closed Gabe’s limp fingers around it and squeezed Gabe’s hand. Gabe knew it was Dolan’s well-worn rosary. 28 percent.

Gabe saw Dolan’s jaw clench. His eyes burned with rage. Gabe had seen that face before. Something very bad was going to happen to somebody. More important, Gabe knew Dolan understood. Dolan had to leave with Beth — immediately. Getting her out of the lab had always been their objective.

Gabe felt Dolan’s hand on his forehead.

Though I walk the valley of darkness, I fear no evil… Dolan said.

…Because, you are with me. Gabe finished softly, or at least he thought he did. The gray had again obscured Dolan’s face. Gabe’s eyelids were getting so heavy. He thought he felt Dolan make the sign of the cross on his forehead. 19 percent.

Gabe closed his eyes, but there wasn’t darkness. Scenes quickly flashed before him. Each one grew and burned with clarity until it evaporated as another rapidly grew out of the darkness. The Chapel in Turin…an exploding car…Dolan’s piercing eyes…the glint of an assassin’s blade …Flaege’s maniacal grin…the shocked look on Beth’s face when Gabe told her the big news. The scenes played like a Fellini movie. Gabe swore it all ended with a small pop. Then, abruptly there was darkness. He started preparing his speech for St. Peter. He would have straightened his tie if he’d been wearing one. He was ready to die.

September 1939

Montevergine Abbey

Montevergine, Italy

They are late, Prefect Desarni observed.

Be patient, they are only a few hours tardy, the vicar replied, rubbing his eyes wearily. Vicar Volle, the regional head of the Church, was growing tired of watching Desarni pace back and forth between the abbey’s two large entrance windows. He had patiently observed as Desarni smoked a pack of cigarettes. His belly jiggled as he walked back and forth peering out the windows at every sound or movement. Desarni was sweating large stains into his black shirt around his flabby arms and breasts.

What an irritating man, Volle thought. He would be very glad to leave this place.

Why did they stop in Rome? That was foolishness, Desarni said, nervously bending into a candle to light yet another cigarette before launching into a lengthy diatribe. Mussolini has been looking everywhere for it. I’ll bet he plans to offer it to the devil in Germany. That’s all he is, you know, a lap dog that jumps whenever his German master pulls his chain. Let me tell you, that one is a nut, he is. I have read that he desires all religious artifacts. Anything he can get his hands on. He will pursue them until he has them. Such determination I have not seen before. It wouldn’t surprise me if one day he rules all of Eastern Europe. He’s made a deal with the Russians, you know. Between those two madmen, they will carve Europe apart. Mark my words. The devil is loose, and he is dancing about Europe. No one is safe.

He was waving his arms at Volle. Spittle was flying from his meaty lips. Somehow he managed to launch his freshly lit cigarette against a wall, sending an explosion of orange cinders into the air, some of which spilled onto Volle’s robe. Volle jumped to his feet to dust the smoldering ashes off his robe. He had reached his limit. Normally a patient man, he had grown tired of the hysterical babbling of this fool over the past five hours. He was mystified. Why would the Pope entrust this man to guard the Church’s most sacred object? There was no logic in it.

Prefect Desarni, you must get ahold of yourself, he said, glowering down at Desarni. Volle was a large man and knew he could be intimidating. I am tiring of your presence. If you persist in this behavior, I will have to ask you to leave. Volle punctuated the warning by pounding his finger into Desarni’s chest.

Volle was a humorless, highly efficient man — one who could be trusted with this task. He would reveal nothing, and, if need be, protect the object with his life. Tanks were moving about Europe, and the Vatican did not want the object to fall into the wrong hands. A total of five, maybe six, people including the Pope knew of the final destination of the object. Volle shuddered at the thought of Desarni being one of them. Security had been so elaborate. Dozens of teams had departed at varying times, in separate directions, to different destinations. The safety of the object was of utmost importance to the Vatican. And that was why it was on its way to the obscure Montevergine Abbey.

The abbey was Spartan, almost shabby, but Montevergine had a secret. Its secret belied its vast importance to the Church. It was built on the site that was once the largest bank in Italy. The bank had been destroyed by a very determined fire some twenty-five years prior. However, the bank’s large and elaborate underground vault, built to hold the gold and millions of lire drained out of the region, was immune to the ravages of the flames. As time moved on, everyone forgot about the vault — everyone except one keen bishop in the area. He lobbied for the Church to come into possession of the land and its secret buried vault. The property was purchased and construction on the abbey began.

Wanting to take the easy way, the builders planned to build over the vault, but Rome intervened. A clever plan was developed that used the vault, but concealed its existence from the outside world. So it was that a humble abbey in a small village had become the holding place of a number of highly sensitive and sacred Vatican objects. Given the strength of the war clouds covering Europe, the pope thought it would be better if Montevergine, and its long forgotten hidden vault, held the object until calmer times prevailed.

After taking a deep breath, Desarni looked down at his feet and mumbled: You are right, Vicar, my apologies. I wish I had a small glass of wine, to calm my nerves, you know, Desarni added with an unstable grin. He was trembling.

Outside, the air was still and a lazy mist was falling. Finally, a pair of headlights dimly shone through the haze into the windows of the abbey. The hollow, tinny screeching of a car’s brakes announced its arrival. A soft procession of footsteps preceded a knock on the abbey’s front door.

The pair moved to the heavy oak doors.

I need to speak with Prior Desarni, a hard, monotone voice said from behind the door. I have an object that requires his blessing.

I’m sorry. The priests have retired for the evening, Desarni answered.

Sir, great peril comes to those who do not believe.

That was the code.

Desarni grunted as he pulled the heavy doors open. As the man entered, he looked nervously into the mist outside, searching the shadows for any movement. Satisfied there was none, he closed and bolted the door.

My name is Fabricio Unguri. I serve the Vatican. I have a delivery for you. He lifted a large metal briefcase handcuffed to his wrist.

Sir, we have anticipated your arrival, Volle said, pushing Desarni aside. You are tardy. May I ask why?

The scientists in Rome had some difficulties enclosing the object. It has been sealed without air or moisture. That ensures preservation. The process took longer than anticipated.

Unguri stared blankly into the open space above Volle’s head. Volle had seen that stare before. The Vatican had sent its best.

Were you followed? Volle asked.

There was modest traffic on the route. I doubled back three times to ensure no one was behind me. No, sir, I do not believe that I was.

Good, well…let us relieve you of your burden and put it in a safe place, Volle said, reaching for the portfolio.

Unguri’s hand shot out, catching Volle’s arm. Sir, with all due respect, I was instructed to place the object into the vault myself. I am the only one with a key and, therefore, I will see the object into the chamber.

Excellent, Volle thought. He follows his orders to a T.

By all means, Volle said, motioning to the stairwell at the far end of the cathedral. Let me show you the way.

As the trio made their way through the locked gate that led to the vault’s stairwell, a sharp knock on the oak doors echoed through the church. The three men stopped on the stairs. The knocking stopped for a brief moment then began anew. Unguri reached into his coat. Volle surmised that a pistol was contained within.

Are you expecting a visitor? Unguri asked.

No, not at this hour, Desarni answered.

You must answer the door, Unguri said. The knocks continued. Be polite, but we will have no visitors. Vicar, lead me to the vault. Quickly, now.

Desarni went up the stairs while the twosome worked their way down. The stairs emptied them into a chamber that was lined with solid limestone, slightly blackened at the top. It smelled dank and musty. A single light bulb hung from wiring in the center of the chamber. The room was small, perhaps claustrophobic, to some, but to Volle it felt safe.

Volle quickly moved to the large three-hinged metal vault that occupied the entire back wall of the room. He approached the set of dials.

Good sir, if you would be so kind. Volle motioned to Unguri to turn so he could not observe the combinations. Unguri turned and focused on the stairwell, alert to any movement or sound. Volle noticed that his right hand was still inside his trench coat.

He turned back to the safe and spun the combinations into the three separate dials. A heavy latch fell inside the door. The metal hinges let out a low groan as the full weight of the door came to rest on them. Volle pulled the handle, and the door squeaked its way open. There was no light in the vault; no one had figured out how to get electricity into a ten-foot by ten-foot room fully encased by six inches of metal.

Volle turned to Unguri. Give me the object. We need to get the vault closed quickly. Volle helped lift the large metal portfolio so that Unguri could get the key into the handcuffs. They popped open and the two men were left supporting the portfolio like a table. Volle was surprised by the weight of the case. It must have weighed 50 pounds. How had this man carried it for so long?

The pair moved into the vault, one in front and one in back, slowing walking with the portfolio. They placed it on the middle shelf of a 10-foot-high rack. Unguri paused and briefly scanned the vault. It was full of dozens of different sized and shaped objects. Some were gold that dully reflected the light from the antechamber. Some were fully covered with white cloth, hiding the treasure beneath. The vault was filled with artifacts.

No one, save for a few, knows the treasures in Montevergine, Volle said with an ominous tone. Many of these things are of great importance and untold value to the Church. Some are best left unnoticed. I, and all of us here, must protect this vault with our lives.

Well, let us hope that will not have to happen, Father, a voice from the antechamber added. The voice had a heavy German accent.

Volle, who had backed into the room, looked over Unguri’s shoulder to see the source of the voice.

A man with a black hat and trench coat was moving toward the vault door. Each lapel of his coat had a patch with a rigid SS. Desarni was directly in front of him. The SS Officer was pushing the fat mountain of a man forward by jamming something into his back.

I’m sorry, my brothers. He has a gun. He gave me no choice, Desarni blathered.

Gentlemen, arms up. If you would back out of the vault and hand me that case, I will be on my way, the German said in a polite tone.

Sir, if you will allow me to show you there is nothing of value here. The case is empty. It is but a ruse. There were dozens of cases going to different places, Volle said. Rome had provided a number of scenarios to Volle when planning for the transfer of the object. This was a stall and a not very convincing one, but Volle was glad that he had prepared as Rome instructed. More important, he had followed Rome’s instructions to the letter.

A muffled shot rang out. Desarni’s face contorted in surprise and his whole body jerked. His mouth moved to make a sound, but only blood dribbled out of his fat, fleshy lips. He fell forward between the German and the vault door. A dark spot, similar to the one on his front, was now forming on the back of his vestment.

As you can see, Father, I am in no mood for your foolishness. If this case is a ruse, then you will meet the same fate as your brother here, the German said, coolly waving the smoking gun at the body of Desarni. This case has an appointment for which it is a bit overdue for. The Fuhrer is a most impatient man; therefore, I will ask you one more time. Hand over the case, slowly, or you will both die. He leveled the pistol at Unguri’s head. You, priest. Pick up the case or he dies.

Volle acknowledged the order with a slight bow of his head, and as he turned away from the German, a thin smile cracked his lips. He had fastidiously followed Rome’s instructions preparing for the object’s transfer. Maybe they knew about what was to come, a foresight, a vision from God perhaps. There was no doubt that the grace of God was blessing Volle and its most sacred object this day.

Quickly, I am in a hurry, you know, the German said dryly. As he fidgeted to look past Unguri, he noticed something pushing out from underneath the other man’s arm. Ohhh…

Like millions of unfortunates before him, that was his last thought. The shotgun blast hit the German full in the upper chest and face. Given the confines of the room, and the German’s proximity to the gun, the impact lifted him from his feet and deposited him in a bloody mess onto the stairwell.

As soon as his head stopped pounding and his ears stopped ringing from the blast, Volle said, Quickly, we must close the vault before anyone else comes. The shotgun will have awakened some of the abbots. We need to hide the German. If he is found dead here, the local constable will start an inquiry. That will give Hitler a fine idea of where the Shroud is.

We can put them both in my car. I will take them to Rome, Unguri offered, but the thought of carrying two bodies through the church and out the front door of the abbey did not appeal to Volle. In any case, it would be impossible to carry that pig, Desarni.

No, I have a better idea. The German desired to be with the Shroud so dearly; I believe we should acquiesce to his request. He and Unguri pushed the bodies into a disheveled pile in the back of the vault. They placed the portfolio on the shelf above them.

I am the only one here who now knows the combination to the vault. I will die before I open it, Volle said to reassure Unguri. It wouldn’t be a pleasant task when he did open the vault, with two decomposing bodies inside, but he had to get the doors closed before anyone else came. I will return later with a trusted friend to clean up this mess.

Good. I must return to Rome. Go with God, Unguri said and quickly proceeded up the stairs.

Volle smirked at the heap that was the German and Desarni a few moments before. Even though he detested the man, Desarni deserved a better fate. The German got what he earned. Go with God, Volle said softly. He made the sign of the cross and closed the heavy iron door.

Only Volle didn’t return to the vault. His time came a few days later on a trip to Rome. The car he was driving lost its brakes on a steep hill. The car tumbled off the road and down the hill, crushing him. The abbey was buzzing with rumors. First Desarni had disappeared; then Volle was killed in a freak accident. A few more days passed before the Sunday churchgoers were complaining about a foul odor on the left side of the church. The new prefect went to investigate and found the odor seemed to be coming from the sacred vault. He didn’t have the required combination to open the vault. He phoned Rome. A day later, three square-jawed men arrived at the abbey. The lead man identified himself as Unguri.

The trio made their way down to the vault, politely asking the prefect to remain upstairs. The smell didn’t bother these men. They had been exposed to the smell of rotten flesh on numerous occasions. Unguri entered the combinations given to him by the Vatican and slowly opened the vault as the other two men trained their pistols on the stairwell. The door creaked open.

Desarni’s black and bloated body was lying in an unnatural position in the back of the room, his arms and legs stiff with rigor mortis. Not a surprise, given the time that had passed. The shock to Unguri was that there was no other body in the room. He knew that the German had been in here. He had helped Volle lift the body. Where was it? Unguri scanned the vault with his flashlight. Maybe the German had been still alive and somehow moved from his resting spot. He quickly found the shelf the Shroud was on. All the other objects seemed to be where they’d been placed. But there was no other body in the vault.

As Unguri approached Desarni’s body, his flashlight caught a heavy patch of thick black dust. The spot distinctly outlined the shape of a body. He leaned down and felt the spot, but it wasn’t dust at all. It was black oily paste. Maggots maybe, or perhaps some special chemical on his uniform? Maybe Volle had returned and removed the German before his untimely passing. Unguri thought, trying to rationalize away the spot where the German used to be. Looking up, he warily eyed the objects in the room. Some of the taller, upright crosses and chalices glistened in the shallow light, their gold and precious gems finally getting a chance to shine.

Sir, is everything all right? a voice from the antechamber asked.

Yes. I think so, Unguri called out, still studying the sacred objects as if they could provide him with some clue to what had happened in the room. He carefully spread a body bag on the vault floor, not taking his eyes off the objects silently defending the vault.

Help me with this body so we can leave.

Trinity Laboratories

St. Louis, Missouri

Friday, February 4th, 2004

Crap, Gabe said to no one in particular. The line outside the cafeteria was 15 people deep. He quickly looked at his watch: 12:15. No wonder.

Gabe smiled as he remembered the first lunchroom at Trinity Labs. It was a card table with folding chairs. Lunch break then, if that’s what you called it, was a short decompression from the overwhelming work, a brief respite to clear blurry eyes that had been staring into monitors and microscopes for hours. It was usually around 4:00 in the afternoon and consisted of burnt coffee and Snickers bars. How long ago was that now? Fifteen years?

Gabe took a tray, placed it on the sanitary steel rungs of the line and slowly shuffled forward. Two things were for sure: The food was good, and the price was certainly right. When Trinity moved into the new complex a few years back, the powers that be decided that as a competitive perk in the cut-throat world of bio-genetic recruiting, breakfast and lunch would be free of charge. The company had always had the reputation for the best research, the best methodologies, and the fastest turn around for getting its technologies —biogenetic or other — to market. The only way to get to that place, and stay there, was to fire the steely forge of idea creation. A free lunch was a small price to pay.

Gabe moved with the herd through the line, taking a burger and fries. As he reached the dining area, he noticed a table occupied by one of his ex-colleagues — and not just any ex colleague. It was Julie. It was also the table that every male in the lunchroom wanted to be at.

Julie Peterson had left Gabe’s department over a year ago. She was very bright, and the corporate fire burnt a little hotter as a result of her unique and relentless approaches to problem solving. Is deShe was good, and if you are good in a company like Trinity, you were moved up. If you couldn’t handle it, you were moved out. Thus,

her move out of Gabe’s carbon dating/imaging labs into the genome project was a huge opportunity. Gabe was a good manager and he liked Julie, so he would never stand in her way, even if that meant hurting his own department. Plus, she was doing great where she was. She had risen so quickly in the past year that she was almost at Gabe’s corporate rank. It had taken Gabe four times as long to get there.

Julie looked up from the papers spread out on the four-person table in front of her. She noticed Gabe sheepishly heading toward her table and waved him over. He noticed she was alone, which was not unusual. She was the girl next door type of cute and was well put together, a combination that most of the male population at Trinity couldn’t deal with. They would stumble about, taking great interest in their shoes or the ceiling when she would approach, nervously imploding under the pressure of a brilliant, attractive female. Nothing in school, the Internet, or their key-worn laptops had prepared them for that. The white coats at Trinity were mental behemoths, but social idiots, which in an odd way also made them great employees. They did nothing but work. Things like fantasy football or baseball leagues that were common in other organizations just didn’t exist at Trinity. Most white coats here had never held, much less thrown, a football. HR never had to contend with the sexual harassment claims that most companies Trinity’s size faced.

Julie had a big advantage in this sandbox. Attractive, intelligent, single woman surrounded by a bunch of dorks. It was a perfect affirmation of the theory of natural selection. The envious water cooler consensus was that her looks, not her smarts, were the reason she got the plum job on the genome project. But Gabe knew better.

As he made his way to Julie’s table, Gabe thought about the people that had cycled through his team. What was she, the sixth person to be transferred out of his department? It was once the top of Trinity. Hell, fifteen years ago when he came out green from Washington University graduate school, it was Trinity. There were nine people working all hours to meet the demand for carbon dating and carbon fiber technologies. That technology — his work — laid the foundation for the birth of a different field, another entire industry – biogenetics. Astutely, Trinity evolved, captured, and monopolized that industry. Advanced genetics and biotechnology were all the rage, and the smart money always flowed to the leading technologies. Unfortunately for Gabe, that biogenetic evolution meant extinction. The demand for carbon fiber bonding and dating procedures were a shadow of what they had once been. His department had shrunk to an afterthought. His close-knit team was now down to four, two of whom were transferred into his department because there wasn’t any other place in Trinity to hide them. Every day he could feel his usefulness at Trinity degrade. Even his tenure as Employee #12 didn’t matter that much.

It was a few years ago that Gabe had realized this, seen the writing on the wall. In an effort to save his department and perhaps his career, he sold the marketing and planning departments on the vast revenue opportunities in optical scanning and imaging software. He promised a good revenue stream with just a little investment and they bought into it. Maybe there was some residual sentiment for Employee #12. Whatever the reason, Gabe set about retooling his department, and poof, within six months Trinity had a new business line with a snazzy new name —digital forensics. Gabe hated the name, but it was better than nothing.

The Digital Forensics department had landed some interesting projects in the last couple of years, but in the grand scheme of things, the revenue it generated was only table scraps. The technology investment was, at best, breakeven. The computing requirements moved fast, and if you weren’t spending to keep up you would quickly fall behind. Simple digitization of images had in less than three years become laser scanning and three-dimensional optical rendering. The combination of these two techniques was staggering, and a cottage industry had been created to assist the mechanical engineering departments of large silicon chip manufacturers. Despite industry relevance, Trinity’s commitment to these new high-cost technologies was wobbly at best. Staying engaged with these technologies had helped Gabe keep his department and his job alive. Still, it was life support, mainly. If times got tough for Trinity, he knew he wouldn’t survive.

Then, earlier that year, Gabe had received the break he’d needed. Things had changed for the better for him since Trinity agreed to The Project. As a