Breath of Death

By Clint Browning

Matt Grayson thought his life under control until discovering he possessed the framework for a biological weapon. Those wanting control of this creation hunt Grayson forcing him to decide how to deal with this unexpected package. His decision will determine if his already distorted life will continue or end.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Mar 14, 2015
• ISBN: 9781483552224

Book preview

2015

Designing weapons to fight a war is an unfortunate reality;

creating weapons to start a war an unpardonable sin.

CHAPTER 1

October 2018

The FBI had not believed his warning on the research and its intended use. Instead they held him for twenty-four hours, his release granted only after verifying the visiting professor status at the Southern California Laboratory for Genetics. That authentication also meant those from whom he had attempted to hide his actions now knew he had discovered something.

After his release, Terry Lange drove directly to the lab. Once the flight to Australia was booked, he focused on the data, subconsciously wondering why he had spent nearly two thousand dollars on a ticket, which likely would be unused.

Lange concentrated on each keystroke unwilling to lose precious seconds having to repeat the log-on procedure.

He stopped as the papers on his desk rippled. Then he heard the sigh of the ventilation system as it began circulating air through the lab. Trying to throw off the growing paranoia, Lange continued. The display on the monitor rewarded his efforts with a welcome to the Applied Genetics Research Lab where his friend, Matt Grayson, worked. He completed the last keystrokes sending the data on its electronic voyage across the country.

The transfer would take a few minutes. Lange retained an old world perspective, never completely trusting the idea of moving information this way, but expediency required it. Hoping the data flow would be successful, he watched the message informing him of the remaining transmission time. When complete, the computer would automatically run software rendering its memory useless. Then it would be Grayson’s responsibility to determine the critical nature of the information and do what was necessary.

Lange heard the door at the far end of the lab open. No mistake this time. Someone had entered the area. Although probably a graduate student checking a critical experiment, Lange decided an inspection would do no harm. He wanted no one to see the files spread across his desk or observe the information being transmitted.

Stuffing the documents into his briefcase, Lange stood and walked towards the lab entrance. One of the doors stood open. Looking down the dimly lighted corridor, he saw no one.

He turned to walk back to his office. Damn. A campus guard stood several feet from him inside the laboratory area. Announce yourself next time.

There won’t be a next time, Professor Lange.

Lange jumped between some cabinets before his assailant fully reacted, but still not fast enough as a bullet grazed his side. He moved further into the darkened area between the storage units, away from his office in an attempt to lead the man from the computer.

Lange stopped, listening. Forcing his breathing to slow and not gasp at the pain of the wound, he searched for anything to serve as a weapon. A metal rod on a nearby desk would suffice. Slowly Lange moved his hand up to the desk, sliding his fingers along the surface until they made contact with the rod. Detaining the man until completion of the data transfer would be enough. Ironic he would likely die protecting another county from scientific research gone terribly wrong.

Suddenly, Lange realized the man had turned back and was closing the lab door cutting off any escape. That meant the man remained focused on Lange with no idea of the computer working in the back office. He needed to be distracted long enough to ensure completion of the data transfer. Holding onto a nearby desk, Lange pulled himself up to see his attacker opening the office door where the computer sat. Seeing a coffee cup on the desk, Lange picked it up and hurled it across the room.

The assailant crouched and turned in the direction of the noise. Lange waited as the man came within a few feet of him. As he passed, Lange stepped from behind the desk, moving behind the man, attempting to close the distance, and use the improvised weapon.

How did the man hear him? He had tried to avoid making any noise, but the man turned, pointing the gun straight at him. Lange saw the muzzle flash briefly before feeling the impact of the bullet as it entered his chest.

* * *

Lange’s assassin reached down, rewarded by the absence of a pulse. For an academic type, Lange had been a slight challenge, almost gaining the advantage at the end. Regardless, he had successfully fulfilled the contract. Still, something was twisted in a world where the assignments were to kill such men as this. But his task was not to evaluate, just perform.

The man entered Lange’s office and began searching the area. Unbelievably, the documents were in the second place he looked—not hidden, just shoved inside a briefcase. Next, he turned his attention to Lange’s desk. A small light illuminated the area where the laptop screen displayed data transmission completed.

Picking up the briefcase and the laptop, the man moved down the corridor. Closing the lab door behind him, he exited making certain no one observed him. Within minutes Lange’s killer had slipped into the darkness.

CHAPTER 2

Matt Grayson stared at the screen. Was this another one of Terry Lange’s practical jokes? Receiving an encrypted message from the professor was strange enough, but it also suggested something unwanted. Or maybe this was a by-product of Lange’s increasingly peculiar behavior of late.

Believing the man not crazy enough to send something that would mess with the systems in the lab, Grayson continued exploring the message contents. It included attachments consisting of three molecular structures, a website link, and two lines composed of various characters, but no other message from Lange. One of the three structures Grayson recognized from a research paper that he and Lange had published. The item was a genetic clock capable of turning off the replication of a virus at a specified time. Although typically avoiding attention, Grayson had tentatively agreed to join Lange in presenting the results of this research at an international genetics forum next month. The second and third structures were unrecognizable. Although one of the remaining two was similar in some aspects to the genetic clock, it was definitely more complex.

But the real surprise was the link. Once Grayson clicked on it, the remaining message contents made sense. One was the user name and the other the password to access the website of a company named BioFinish. Although Grayson wanted to investigate the link, a call to Lange might be a smart move before accessing an unknown site.

Attempts to reach Lange through his office and cell numbers proved unsuccessful. Although leaving a message, allowing for the two-hour time difference on the West coast, Grayson decided to check again in an hour.

Doctor Grayson?

Grayson looked up. Sorry, Ms. Celica. I didn’t notice you standing there.

Grayson tried not to stare at her—his second problem of the day. The few women working in his lab were those occasionally spending the night in a sleeping bag on the lab floor, unwilling to miss the next crucial step in an experiment. One look at this woman would convince the most casual observer she had not spent the night on a laboratory floor.

Grayson frowned. Her mid-thigh skirt and the neckline on the pale blue sweater could set research back weeks for the jaded male graduate students plus some of the female students working in his lab.

This interruption was the continuation of an interview deemed necessary by management following an article by a local independent newsletter named The Techie, which focused on technology developments and research in the Austin area. Regardless of its inane label, the publication possessed a substantial following. Erica worked for the newsletter part-time while attending graduate school. Recently a story authored by her focused on research conducted in Grayson’s lab, which was under contract to a large consortium. Although not unfavorable, the article had focused more on the management of funding genetics research. With the lab having ties to the consortium and university, any visibility needed careful handling. Since Grayson managed the operational aspects of the lab as well as directing the research, he became the person to address the article.

The first interview had made him uncomfortable. Now the attractive graduate student representing The Techie wanted some final information, bio-background she had called it. Any probing into his personal life signified an unwelcome intrusion into a tightly controlled existence. Grayson wanted to be left alone to study the genetic intricacies of life, but he presented an accessible target in his dual roles. Grayson neither needed nor wanted distractions such as Erica Celica. And how the executives thought he could convince some graduate student for this newsletter that genetic modification did not tamper with the holy order of things was beyond Grayson’s comprehension. He knew that’s where this story would ultimately go. Regardless of what Grayson told her, she wanted a story.

Please, it’s Erica. I thought you might at least smile this time. I’m sorry these interviews make you uncomfortable, but your laboratory did receive recognition for its management of funds. You know four labs had their grants pulled due to mismanagement.

Grayson shook his head in response to Erica’s last remarks. What’s wrong with being recognized? she asked.

I’ve spent the last several years attempting to better understand the basis of diseases, working to give people a better life. Our research has brought international recognition to this lab, something occasionally acknowledged, but manage funds better than anyone else, and you’re a genius.

May I sit?

Grayson nodded towards the only chair not occupied with papers.

Why do you believe more attention is not focused on the research?

As I explained in our initial meeting, our primary research area is gene therapy. According to some vocal groups, this manipulation represents playing God. Certain financial alliances make our connection to the research community sensitive, so publicity of this research is played down even though it generates millions in grant monies each year. It’s irritating when being politically correct trumps discovery.

Your contributions in the field are internationally recognized. Reporting on administrative accomplishments should not detract from your academic successes. Not waiting for a response, Erica continued. As I mentioned on the phone, I’m back to check a few biographical points with you. I need to verify a few things.

Go on. Grayson shifted, suddenly uncomfortable in his chair.

I must admit your background is unique. Born nineteen eight-seven in Triple, Iowa. Suddenly you appeared out of the fields, so to speak. Home schooled before the practice became fashionable. At sixteen you took the SAT receiving a near perfect score, completed a bachelor’s degree in biochemistry in three years. Continued at Stanford earning a doctorate in genetics in three years followed by a one-year post doc at MIT. Remained there three years performing research. Joined the Applied Genetics Research Laboratory in two thousand thirteen and in two years became assistant director. This year you were named director.

I suppose you know where I live, the car I drive, and my income?

Yes, but those facts will not appear in the article.

The interview was becoming more oppressive. Grayson wanted to derail it.

Mind telling me how you obtained all that knowledge? he asked.

FOIA. Freedom of Information Act and some other sources. Journalism one-oh-one.

Of course. The information is correct. Why didn’t you ask me all this during our first interview?

It provided me an excuse to come back.

After staring into her green eyes longer than necessary, Grayson recovered enough to pursue an idea. If one wanted to obtain information using FOIA, how would that be done?

If you tell me what you want, I’ll be happy to handle it for you. I submit requests regularly. I could just include what you need in my requirements. Your name would not appear on the form.

Erica was offering far more than what Grayson had expected. There was something he wanted to look into without attracting attention. He had not thought of using FOIA as a source, but having Erica handle the request would address numerous issues. Although Erica’s suggestion offered a buffer, Grayson wondered if enlightening her to the purpose of his inquiry would lead to more questions. And he would need to explain because she was not the type person willing to request the information without knowing why. The risk might be worth taking, especially if he could avoid directly requesting the information.

Maybe the call to Lange could wait.

How about some coffee at the union? Although surprised by his own directness in asking, Erica’s acceptance surprised him more.

Grayson noted the glances of some in the lab as they left together. He knew rumors would begin before the door closed behind them. More looks when he mentioned that he was going out for a break. No reason he couldn’t go outside the lab for coffee during the day, even if it did violate his practice of not doing so unless called away to a meeting.

CHAPTER 3

Walking beside this stunning woman made Grayson strangely wish his appearance a little classier—okay, substantially classier. His beard and hair could use a trim and the wrinkled clothes benefitted by time spent with an iron.

As they walked across the research campus, Grayson watched the students, some in groups enjoying one another’s friendship, others alone studying on a bench. Even he was enjoying the fall morning, made more pleasant by the fact Erica accompanied him. He caught the glances of some of his associates as they admiringly looked at Erica, who appeared oblivious to the attention. Maybe time had come to put aside the excuses for shying from life. Spending some time out here with the rest of the world might prove beneficial.

Grayson became aware of Erica saying something about her envy for his position.

My goal is a doctorate and then teach, but I’m not sure I have the perseverance. Then there’s the politics of being on faculty. You represent a minority in your independence.

I’m not on the faculty. Besides, things aren’t always what they appear. You should know that being in journalism.

True, Erica said, laughing and giving her head a toss. The fragrance of her hair and the beauty of its luxurious black color in the sunlight distracted Grayson.

Listen. I know this incredible place for pastries, much better than the union and less crowded.

Lead the way. The seduced Grayson found no reason to argue.

Outside appearances indicated the place could use a remodel, but the éclair was incredible and the coffee delicious.

So Dr. Grayson, what do you want to know that forced us out of your office?

Are you always so certain of your conclusions based upon a limited amount of data?

Her smile sufficed as the response.

First, this conversation is off the record. I’ve always wanted to say that to a reporter.

Journalist, Erica corrected. If that’s the way you want it, then yes, it’s off the record.

Grayson wondered again if he should be voicing his concerns but continued. Some of my research funds come from the Phoenix Trust. Although I’ve never encountered problems with the group, I’m curious about their structure, where their monies originate.

Grayson watched as perfect teeth closed over the piece of pastry impaled on the fork. He needed to say more, mostly to avoid staring at her lips.

My interest is due to something that recently happened, he continued. "When a researcher obtains funding, that money is associated with the individual. The person moves, the money follows assuming the new facilities and so forth meet criteria. Last week, a senior research professor in molecular biology reached an agreement for a position with another research entity, a tremendous opportunity for him. When he notified the department head of his planned move, he learned that the research money remained here. He came to me. In reviewing his grant with Phoenix, we noted it specified that the institution is the recipient of the grant and funding cannot be relocated at the discretion of the researcher. I checked around, and the same arrangement appears for all Phoenix grants that I reviewed. It’s as though the