Project Download

By Robert Wann

Henriks ambitions were different than anyone else in his field, or as a matter of fact, in the world. He could have simply taken the road to success and had an illustrious career as a neurosurgeon with a model wife, four children and a beautiful home in the suburbs, but he wanted more and was driven by a force that could not be explained. A force to conquer the human brain and communicate with it in ways that would change the world as we know it today. His early experiments had already proven that he could retrieve the memories of the dead, but now he had more ambitious goals. He was on a quest to capture the memories of the living and ultimately provide his subjects with new memories, all without harming them. Memories that he had retrieved from previous subjects. Unfortunately, he could have never predicted the casualties that would occur in the wake of his success.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 25, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456746384

Robert Wann

Originally from Central Indiana, Robert Wann now lives and works in Daytona Beach, Florida. He was an automation engineer for most of his career, creating mechanisms and electronic devices to perform a multitude of different tasks for innumerous projects. This background has given him a unique perspective in creating and describing mechanisms and electronic controls that help bring this fictional tale to life. As you read this exiting novel, you will see his humorous side as well as his creative and mysterious side. Enjoy!

Book preview

PREFACE

Henrik Strasser was a genius obsessed with finding ways to communicate with the human brain that other scientists had never dreamed. Rather than take a path in life that would have made most men happy, he chose to explore the aspects and limitations of the human brain and experiment with different methods of accessing the storage of memories. During his years of higher education, he was tormented because he knew his theories would work if he was given the chance to prove them to fruition. But each time he tried to explain his theories to his peers, or professors, or tried to convince them that he needed fresh human cadavers in order to access the human brain while the memories were still intact, he received nothing by blank stares and cold shoulders and was looked upon as a person with a morbid agenda. After several failed attempts to communicate these theories, he found himself outcast. As a result, he kept to himself and pursued his second passion, brain surgery. But a chance meeting with Roland Kasowski changed everything. He never forgot that day in Atlanta’s Hartsfield airport when Roland struck up a conversation and eventually revealed his occupation… that of a mortician. Henrik sensed an opportunity and began asking many questions about the processes used to prepare the human body for burial. A prolonged flight delay for both men and several drinks at the bar led to an ease in their new relationship and an inclination to collaborate on efforts to determine if the results of Strasser’s theories would play out as he anticipated. Kasowski would provide not only the bodies but a place to perform the experiments as well. Finally, Strasser foresaw the continuance of his work and arranged to contact Kasowski at his place of business, the Daggett and Kasowski mortuary. As soon as his affairs were in order, he resigned his residency at a local hospital and immediately relocated to Indianapolis, Indiana where a partnership was formed and his dreams became reality. After all, to Henrik, it was not just an experiment, but the fulfillment of his lifelong ambition.

CHAPTER 1

Gloomy best described the dark, foggy, Hoosier night. A distant light appeared as a hazy dim glow and there was a steady drip from the trees and streetlamps, and anything that could provide a surface for the fog to collect. It was almost as if a cloud had settled over the city. The streets and sidewalks had long been deserted and the temperature was only about forty degrees. Just a downright nasty night, Al said aloud to himself. The late fall rains had brought falling wet leaves everywhere, making the streets and sidewalks slick in spots and gusts of wind buffeted the sides of the car, adding to the tension of his drive. Al thought it would have been a good night to stay home, but a grand was a grand and he needed the dough. He just hoped this thing would come off as smoothly as he had been assured it would. He wasn’t about to end up in the big house again. No sir, he thought. Albert Larry Finnel, inmate No. 174596, no longer exists and never will again. What a waste of three years of a life, a chapter he vowed never to repeat.

A pair of headlights appeared in the distance and slowly came closer and closer as he got nearer to his turn-off. He took a towel off the passenger seat and wiped the fog from his windshield. He knew the neighborhood fairly well, but also knew that he would never be lucky enough to own or even live in one of the big, beautiful Victorian houses. The approaching car breezed by and sprayed his windshield as it passed, and then the street was suddenly dark again. He told himself that he hated this weather and, as usual this time of year, wished he had moved south. On the other hand, he was glad it was so gloomy on this particular night because it provided a certain amount of cover. The back end of the car slid slightly as he whipped it around a corner onto a side street and then, shifting through the gears, sped quickly along until he came to an alley. He turned again and moderately sped along, the pipes of his classic 66 Mustang fastback reverberating and echoing off a wooden fence. That’s stupid he thought, slow down dummy, shift gears, do something different, don’t draw attention to yourself.

The security lights came on as he turned onto a concrete driveway where he stopped in front of a four-car garage. He wished at this moment that those stupid automatic lights had never been invented. Even though he was dressed totally in dark clothes, those idiotic lights increased the risk of being seen by one of the neighbors. He reached into his shirt pocket and took out a piece of paper. Using the light coming in the side window, he held the paper up and read aloud. Code 3-6-5-8. Safe R16 L32 R47 L6, got it. He opened the car door, got out, and closed it as quietly as he could, then bumped it with his buttock to ensure that it latched. He instinctively put his keys and the paper in his hip pocket. The security lights cast a shadow of his tall, lanky frame across the drive. Moving quickly through the opening in the bushes that bordered the yard, he turned and walked down the sidewalk toward the side door of the garage, taking a pair of latex gloves from his jacket pocket, and putting them on as he walked. The wind was howling around the corner of the garage, blowing sheets of the cold drizzle into his face. It was cold to the bone, but he knew he had to concentrate on the task at hand. Wet leaves covered the walk and he stepped very carefully to avoid slipping. He stopped in front of the garage door and peeked through the window, putting his hands above his eyes to shield the security lights. Rain dripped from his hand and ran down the side of his cheek. It was almost pitch black inside and he could barely make out the silhouettes of two automobiles, but nothing more.

He looked at his watch. It was 8:25 PM and he knew he didn’t have much time. The funeral home closed at 9:00 and it was only a ten minute drive, even in this weather. Besides, there was also the possibility that they wouldn’t stay until it closed. He moved to the nearby flowerbed, bent down and picked up a rock, one of many that formed a border along the edge. He saw the outline of the key, picked it up and rubbed it between his forefinger and thumb to remove the mud, then turned it up toward the blowing rain to rinse it off. He placed the rock back into its nesting place, moved to the garage door, inserted the key, turned the knob and pushed the door open. A chirping sound immediately started coming from the alarm box just inside. He had expected it. He stepped in, turned around and looked directly at the lighted keypad on the alarm, squinting to get his eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness. He shivered, shaking his shoulders and head trying to ward off the dampness, and cold, gently pushed the door closed, then stood very still and precisely punched the code into the keypad. The chirping stopped. His first thought was that since the code was right and the key was where they said it would be, maybe everything else they told him was correct and this thing would be easy after all.

He closed the door and stood still in silence as his eyes re-adjusted to the darkness. Then he pulled his keys out of his hip pocket and turned on a small, very bright, blue light that was on his key ring. He pointed it toward the floor to provide just enough illumination to be able to make his way around. Luckily, the windows in the overhead garage doors were facing the back of the property, which was separated from the neighboring properties by a privacy fence that ran along the other side of the alley. He walked across the garage to a tall set of toolboxes against the far wall, opened the top center drawer, and took out another key. He closed the drawer and moved back to the side door of the garage, taking care not to lose track of which key was which. He opened the door, stepped out onto the sidewalk, closed the door and locked it. Once again, he picked up the rock from the flowerbed and returned the key to its hiding place. He walked quickly along a winding sidewalk to the back door of the house. Every move he made was deliberate, as if he had been there a thousand times before. Once inside the house, he put the key in the front pocket of his Levi’s, closed the door and wiped his feet emphatically on the rug. He moved quickly from the back door through the kitchen and into the dining room, working his way around the dining room table without disturbing a thing. He couldn’t help but notice the wonderful aroma coming from the room and he saw that the table was filled with dishes of many different foods and deserts. He lifted the side of a foil cover from a pie pan and looked for a moment at the wonderful dessert that was just waiting to be enjoyed. There wasn’t enough light in the room for him to be able to determine what kind it was, but he was sure it would be good. He hadn’t eaten a thing since breakfast but he knew he didn’t have much time, so he sighed, replaced the foil, and then moved through a short hallway and into the master bedroom. The dim light from the nearby streetlight was shining through the sheers that were draped across a set of French doors which led to a balcony on the front of the house. He looked around the huge room, and even in the dim light he could see it was opulent. An armoire set next to a fireplace with a massive mantel and above it was an oil painting that appeared to be a Monet, or at least a good reproduction, but regardless an impressive work of art. In one corner was a sitting area with two chairs and a matching table and a large flat-screen television took up most of the wall directly across the room. The bed was king sized and had polished brass head and footboards and the headboard was adorned with porcelain ornaments painted with dainty flowers and bluebirds. Above the bed, a polished brass fan was turning lazily, casting a dull shadow against the ceiling. There were two large wooden doors on another wall which he guessed led to the master bath and a walk-in closet. He had been briefed so well that there was a strange familiarity about the entire room.

Without wasting another moment, he moved directly to a night stand beside the bed, picked it up, and moved it a few feet to the side, taking care not to tip the lamp or pictures that were setting on it. A small wall safe was exposed. He knelt in front of the safe and as he took his keys out of his pocket, the small strip of paper with the codes fell to the floor. He turned on the small blue light, quickly spun the combination knob clockwise a couple of times and meticulously dialed the numbers. Right 16, left 32, right 47, and left 6. He grabbed the handle, twisted it, and pulled the door open. Wow, he thought to himself. They really nailed this one. He shined his small light inside and immediately removed a flat wooden box, opened and inspected its contents, closed it and put it in the inside pocket of his jacket. Then he looked into the safe again and saw two stacks of cash and some papers. He knew his instructions were only to take the box and not disturb anything else, but he grabbed the cash anyway, fanned each stack, and put them in his jacket pocket. He thought to himself that no one had to know and what the hell, a dead man sure didn’t need that kind of cash. Thoughts raced through his head about how much there was, five, ten thousand maybe. He turned off his small light and put his keys back into the front pocket of his jeans, closed the safe, spun the dial rapidly, then stood up and placed the night stand back into its original location.

He moved back through the house to the back door. He stopped and once again punched the code into the security system keypad. The chirping started immediately. He opened the door, set the lock, stepped through the door, and closed it behind him. The security light came on again and the chirping stopped, almost simultaneously. He checked to be sure the door was secure and locked. Good he thought, now let’s blow this pop stand. He took off the latex gloves as he walked toward the car and put them in his jacket pocket. He looked at his watch. It was 8:37 PM and it had gone well, he thought to himself as he scanned the area. Twelve minutes total. Now if I can just get out of here without being noticed. He moved quickly along the garage passing the side door, through the bushes, and got back into the Mustang. He started the car, backed out into the alley and pulled away at a moderate speed, turning on his headlights as he drove. After he turned the corner, he rolled the window down and threw the house key into the grass of a swale that ran along the street.

Indianapolis is a beautiful city, and especially so this time of year, however this night was very cold and damp and Gary could think of ten places he would rather be. Hell, a hundred. He had loved his father very much but just never had what it took to tell him. Now it was too late and he would never get the chance because his beloved father was lying in front of him in his coffin, still and pale. An American flag laid across the closed end of the casket, folded back so that the stars were exposed. A large portrait of the man in dress uniform was setting on an easel with a gold plaque that read: CAPTAIN JAMES RICHARD CLARK – US ARMY –RECIPIENT OF THE CONGRESSIONAL MEDAL OF HONOR. In the portrait, the medal hung from a red, white, and blue ribbon around the captain’s neck, and the breast of his coat was adorned in an array of medals, seemingly not sparing any space for another. Gary looked at his watch. It was 8:57 PM and he was very tired. It had been an extremely trying day and he was still in shock over his father’s sudden passing. All he could think of now was to get his mother, take her home, and get some rest. God, how he needed rest, he thought. He didn’t even want to call Lilly when he got back, but knew if he didn’t he would be in deep shit. He walked slowly over to his mother who was talking to a small group of ladies, apologized for interrupting, and told her that the showing was over in a few minutes and he was going after the car. She nodded, said goodbye to her friends, made one last visit to the casket, and walked toward the coat check, dabbing her eyes with a tissue.

As Gary drove his rented Buick up to the funeral home, he saw his mother standing at the bottom of the steps. He got out and walked around to the passenger side of the car, opened the front door and motioned for her. She slowly and methodically got into the car and he closed the door. As he started back around the side of the car, he was forced to stop and let a passing car go by. His eyes met the drivers and he watched the classic Mustang as it sped around the corner toward the back of the funeral home. Once inside the car, he said to his mother. Wow… that was a sharp car. They don’t make them like that anymore. His mother managed a small smile and then reached out and gently grasped his hand. You’ll never change, she said. You’re just like your father.

Al parked under an oak tree at the back, in the darkest area of the parking lot. He would have been there sooner, but he had to stop and count the money he snatched. Ten thousand dollars, he said to himself. No one would ever know and he knew exactly where he was going to spend it. It was raining now and he hated to have to walk so far to the door, but he wasn’t about to let his car get dinged by some irresponsible jackass. He got out and ran toward the door at the back of the funeral home. Once inside, he took off his wet jacket and placed it on a hook. He reached into the jacket pocket and took out the small wooden box. He walked down a short flight of stairs and stopped at a door in a lighted hall. He took out an ID card and swiped the security lock. A buzzer sounded and he opened the door and entered the laboratory. It was not really a laboratory, it was the mortuary, but Al liked to refer to it as a laboratory. It worked better for him whenever he had conversations pertaining to work.

Well, did you get it? a deep voice, with a heavy Baltic accent, bellowed.

What do you think? Al replied in a smart way. Of course I got it. You wouldn’t keep me around if I weren’t good at something would you? And let me tell you, it’s awesome. I checked it out on the way back over here.

Good, let me see it. The voice suddenly grew louder as a tall man in a white lab coat walked out from behind a prep table and sat down at a nearby desk, pulling off a pair of latex gloves and tossing them in the trash can.

Roland was a huge man, standing six feet, four inches tall, with broad shoulders. His bald head glistened with sweat beneath the bright florescent lights of the lab and he had a hardened look in his eyes that seemed to say, don’t give me any shit. Just below his left eye was a scar about two inches long that ran down and across his cheekbone. He had dark heavy eyebrows that gave the impression he was concentrating hard, while he peered out over the tops of his half-moon reading glasses.

Here you are boss. Al said in a jubilant tone. I checked it out in the car. It’s awesome.

Yeah, you said that already, he snapped.

Al placed the box on the desk in front of him. A plaque on the corner read: ROLAND KASOWSKI – MORTICIAN. A few feet away, where Roland had just been working, laid the corpse of a middle aged white male awaiting his final journey. A manila tag dangled from the big toe of his right foot, and his skin was pasty white and dry looking.

Al glanced at the body and then back at Roland. Creepy, creepy, he said. Boss, could you just cover that thing up? You know those things give me the heebee geebees.

Roland’s voice rose. Leave it, you pansy ass! How many times do I have to tell you? It’s only the live ones that you need to worry about. He opened the box. Oh zoweee…., you’re right Al, it is awesome. Look at that sucker shine. There must be eight or ten ounces of gold in this thing. He took the medal out of the box, cupped it in the palm of his left hand and gently bounced it up and down trying to get a feel for the weight. Then he took a magnifying glass out of the center desk drawer and proceeded to study it with great care.

Where is Henrik, Al? Have you seen him? He asked.

Not today Al replied. I think his car was in the parking lot though. I’d bet he’s in the space center. That’s where he always is. Do you want me to find him?

Yeah, get him. He’ll want to see this sucker. Tell him that I need him over here right away. Also Al, before you go, we may have another errand for you. Are you up to the task?

Depends on when you want it done, Al replied. Haven’t eaten a thing yet tonight and I’m starved. Can I get paid for this one so I can eat? By the way, you have my compliments on this job. You guys really did your homework. Everything was exactly like you said it would be. Hell, it went so smooth you might have thought that the dead guy gave me the instructions. How did you know all that stuff?

Never mind that, Roland chuckled without looking up from his inspection. This is one beautiful piece….The Congressional Medal of Honor. Imagine, this guy single handedly took out a machine gun nest behind the DMZ in Korea and then carried one of his wounded buddies a couple miles through the freezing cold to safety. Saved his ass and a bunch more of his friends, I guess. It must have been damn hairy.

Roland closed the box and set it on his desk. Then he opened the center desk drawer, put the magnifying glass back and took out a plain white envelope that appeared to be about a quarter inch thick. He tossed the envelope to Al and said, Don’t spend it all in one place.

Thanks, said Al. What are you going to do with it now? The medal, I mean.

I’m not sure, said Roland, looking up at Al. I can’t leave it lying around though, that’s for sure. There have only been about three hundred of these handed out in the history of the country. It would stick out like a sore thumb if anybody were to see it. Go and find Henrik now and be quick about it. Tell him to get in here as soon as he can.

I’m gone boss. Al said as he scurried off through the lab, giving a grim look as he passed the cut-open corpse lying on the prep table. Geez….. I wish you would cover that thing up.

Al could see Henrik sitting at his desk staring at his computer screen. He knocked softly on the door, just below the sign that read. "HENRIK STRASSER - SCIENTIST"

What can I do for you? Henrik said loudly so that his voice would carry through the door.

Al opened the door slightly and said, Sorry Henrik, the boss wants you in the lab, right away.

Okay, give me just a minute, he replied.

Al came in and closed the door. It wasn’t really a space center but that was what Al and Roland called it because of all the electronic gadgets. There were at least a dozen monitors, each with different screens of data displayed, and there was an entire wall of electronic components with their digital displays and scopes lighting the room and flashing. He took note of a CD on the desk that had been marked "Captain Clark", with an indelible marker. Along the entire length of one wall was a work bench, cluttered with parts of circuit boards, screws, electronic components, soldering irons, spools of wire, and other things that he couldn’t identify. He knew that Henrik was special but didn’t understand what he did or had to do with the mortician business. It didn’t make a bit of sense to him, but whenever he asked questions about Henrik and what he did, he got the same answer. It would be best if you just minded your own business. Roland would command.

What in the world do all these things do and what are you trying to accomplish here? Al asked.

Well Alberto, Henrik said with a roll of the tongue. I would tell you but that would take about twelve years and I just don’t have the time right now, and then I would have to kill you, so be still for a minute while I finish this.

Henrik was a small man who slumped a little. He had thick black hair, with an occasional strand of grey, and always parted it dead center. It was cut like somebody had put a bowl over his head and trimmed around it. His round face was always clean shaven and Al often thought if it had not been for the way he parted his hair, he would look just like Moe from The Three Stooges. He dressed neatly, but never polished his shoes and always wore a white lab coat and denim jeans. When he spoke, his voice was gentle and he rarely raised it. Al liked him a lot because he made him feel at ease and didn’t intimidate and snarl at him like Roland usually did. Regardless, he was never able to spend too much time around him and figured out quickly that they were just in two different worlds.

What do you think Roland wants with me, Alberto? Henrik asked.

Well, I am pretty sure that he wants to show you the prize, Al said, in a discontented tone. But, as you are aware, he only tells me what he wants me to know. I’m just a peon around here and I only do what I am told. You know, it’s usually come to work, go and pick up the stiff here or there and then get the stiff back to be processed, yada, yada, yada… Go and get me some lunch, sweep out the lab, take out the trash, yada, yada, yada…, or whatever.

Henrik knew that Al didn’t particularly like the work, but he also knew that it paid the bills and being an ex-con, he didn’t have many choices.

Okay, okay, okay, grumbled Henrik. I get the picture. Now leave me alone so I can finish what I am doing. Tell Roland I’ll be there as soon as I can.

Alright mon, I’ll tell him. Al said, closing the door behind him as he left.

Roland and Al were sitting at Roland’s desk several minutes later laughing about the evening’s events when they heard Henrik’s footsteps.

What can I do for you Roland? Henrik said as he approached the desk.

Well, it’s about time, said Roland. Al, could you give us a minute? You said you haven’t had any dinner, so why don’t you go ahead and take off. We’ll see you in the morning. And don’t forget what we talked about. Not a word to anyone. I know how one’s tongue can loosen up after a few cocktails, so be very careful. This is extremely important and very confidential. Play the game right and there will be a nice chunk of change in it for you. That little package I gave you earlier is nothing compared to what there is to come.

I understand, said Al, and thanks boss. I’ll see you tomorrow… Later Henrik. He turned and walked toward the door.

Check this out, Henrik, Roland said with a huge smile across his face. He opened the wooden box and handed it to him. Then he tipped back in his chair and took a large cigar out of his pocket. Still smiling, he bit the end off of the cigar, spit it into the trash can, and lit it, blowing out a huge plume of blue smoke. Al was bragging on you Henrik, telling me how it had come off without a hitch. What do you think?

Very nice, said Henrik. I would not have expected anything less. Here is what I think. I am on the verge of making the entire process much more simplified. You know, just because it worked the first time doesn’t mean that the process wasn’t somewhat arduous. As you may recall, it took hours and hours to decipher the data we collected and many more hours to make any sense of it. I have written some new protocols that I think will make the process much less time consuming, but keep in mind timing is of the utmost importance. The sooner we can access the cerebral cortex, the greater our chance of getting the data. I’d say, without further experiments, that we only have four hours maximum. After that, we don’t stand a chance. Also, keep in mind that ambient conditions will affect this time cycle, especially the temperature, and there is no way of being sure exactly how much time we will have with each new subject. One other thing too, I am working on a device that will make it much easier to do this. It is a remote transmitter that is not much larger than a carton of cigarettes. All we will need to do is to install the new transmitter on the subject, then get close enough with a laptop so that we can receive the transmission. I’d guess that to be a hundred yards, or so, but I will know more after I have completed my research.

Very good, exclaimed Roland. You’ve been busy. Now what we need is to find someone who can provide us with some little tidbit of information that someone else just cannot afford to let become public. You do realize, don’t you, that this device is going to change life as we have known it for centuries. Torture will no longer be necessary to obtain information. When we have this process perfected, it will be easier to just go ahead and kill the poor bastard and then get the information after they are dead.

Well, that would work, said Henrik, but it certainly wouldn’t be necessary. Actually, the process may work much better while they are still alive. I can’t be sure of what effects it would have on the live brain though. It could leave the subject in a coma or even reduce them to a vegetative state. Then again, it may not have any ill effects at all, as long as it were implanted and removed by a qualified surgeon. I just need time to finish my research. You know, this whole experiment is in its infancy and it is way too soon to speculate about the performance of the device. I will have all of these answers in time. Anyway, the process was never developed as a tool to eliminate torture or be used in any kind of warfare. We need to be sure that it is not used for those purposes.

How much time? Roland barked, now glaring. You realize, don’t you, that there is a lot on the line and there are people involved that are going to expect results and then answers if they don’t get them?

Of course, said Henrik in a calming tone. We were both quite aware of these circumstances when we started. Nothing has changed.

Nothing except a lot of time, said Roland. Next month it will have been a year since we started this thing.

Of course I realize it, said Henrik. I’m the one who has been putting in the countless hours of hard work to pull this thing off. And let’s not forget that the work process doesn’t stop when I leave here. I sleep with this research, dream about it, have breakfast with it, and take showers with it. You can tell our investors that I am totally devoted to making it work, and work well. The medal should be proof enough to them that it does work.

Yeah, maybe so, said Roland. But you don’t know these guys. They are going to want something tangible.

Well, I’m not sure what it is going to take to convince them, Henrik said. We cannot get access to any corpse we want, and even if we did, there is that time factor we talked about. What the hell, Roland. You know that the process works and you know that I can show those guys anytime. You just have to get me a fresh corpse.

Don’t get so testy, Roland huffed. These aren’t just any guys. They are high rollers and they aren’t going to just hang out until we get a corpse that will fill our needs. We need to show them something substantial.

Substantial! exclaimed Henrik, now raising his voice for the first time. What do you think we just demonstrated tonight? That was substantial Roland. You know it was. Hell, I downloaded the information, sorted it for codes and combinations, found the locations of the keys and the safe, and everything else we needed. I don’t know what more I can do.

You’re right, Henrik, of course you are, said Roland, now more calm. It’s just been a long day and I’m a little tired. I think it’s time to get the hell out of here. I’m going to put this stiff on ice and hit the road.

A voice came through the speaker phone on his desk at that very moment. Roland, we’re finished up here and closing up for the night. See you tomorrow.

Roland pushed the intercom button on the phone and said, Thanks, Larry. Have a good night.

I told you it was time to leave Henrik, said Roland. Let’s call it a day and discuss this further after we have both had a good night sleep. Okay?

Yeah, said Henrik. I’ll see you later then. I am going to back up some files and I will be right behind you. And don’t worry, Roland, when I get my new software debugged, and the remote transmitter online, you are going to be amazed.

Henrik handed Roland the wooden box with the medal. Roland put the box in the center drawer of his desk, took out his keys and locked it.

I won’t be a bit surprised, Henrik, he said. Good night.

Good night, Henrik said as he walked back toward his lab.

CHAPTER 2

George Macklin was sitting at his favorite table, in the corner of the café with his feet propped on a chair, reading the morning paper and enjoying a cup of coffee. The sun was shining through the window on his back and he was thinking that it just doesn’t get much better than this. Even though it was a very clear day, it was still in the forties and he was sure Gary Clark would rather be in the warm sunshine of California than in the cool fall weather of Indy, especially under the grim circumstances. He wondered what on earth he could have felt was so important that he insisted on seeing him before leaving for L.A. George knew that Gary’s father had recently passed on and that he was away from his home, his girl, and his job, which were all very important to him. George regretted deeply that he was not able to be at the service and hoped Gary and his family would understand. He felt that he owed Gary a great deal from their days at Clemson University, and that was a thing that he couldn’t ignore. His thoughts changed as the smell of bacon created an aroma that made his stomach gurgle in anticipation of breakfast.

Gary had just arrived when the waitress set the bowl of fruit and a plate of toast on the table, and asked, Will there be anything else sir?

Why yes Miss, George said. My friend has just arrived, making a gesture toward Gary as he approached the table, and I’m sure he would like some coffee and breakfast.

Just coffee for me, Gary said as he pulled the chair away from table across from George. Black, please. I won’t be having breakfast, thank you.

It’ll be right out sir, the waitress said as she turned to leave.

George stood and extended his hand. It sure is good to see you again Gary. Gripping his hand firmly, he walked around the table, embraced him, and pounded him on the back twice with his closed fist, then smiled and released him. Now tell me, what is it that brings you out on this cool and beautiful morning?

Gary’s face had a tired look as though he had just gotten over a bad case of the flu. His soft blue eyes were still one of his most prominent features and his sandy hair was combed back neatly, the way he had always worn it. George thought he had put on a couple of pounds since school and his hair was a little shorter, but he needed the extra weight and looked fit. He was dressed in a silk suit and wearing a long beige wool overcoat and although George realized that he had just recently joined his firm, he had the look of a successful attorney.

Well, said Gary. You probably heard that my father recently passed away.

Yes, said George. I was very sorry to hear about it. I know that your father was an exceptional person. He will be missed. And Gary, I am so sorry I missed the service. Michelle and I were both at her sister’s place in Baltimore, and we didn’t even hear about it until after we had returned.

Thank you, Gary said. Here is the problem. While we were at the funeral home, believe it or not, someone broke into my father’s house and stole some cash and his medal.

His medal! Do you mean the Silver Star? George asked.

No, not the Silver Star, Gary said. It was the Congressional Medal of Honor. I’m not exactly sure what the difference is, but they are not the same. Anyway, they are both for valor and bravery. One versus the other is somewhat incidental. If you win either, it means you were one brave son-of-a-bitch. My father definitely was. Isn’t it just awful that I can’t even explain the difference between those medals?

George saw that Gary’s eyes were welling up and decided it was time to change the conversation. He looked right into his eyes, took his hand, and said. Its okay Gary, I know it’s been rough on you the past week or so. Tell me, what can I do to help?

Thanks, said Gary, taking back his hand and dabbing at each eye with the back of it. Well it’s like this. That medal is very important to the family. Mother knows about it being stolen but I haven’t told my uncles or aunts. That news would cause turmoil and speculation that I prefer to avoid. But more importantly, I would like to know why someone would want to take it and how they got into the house in the first place. They didn’t break in, I’ll tell you that. There was nothing broken and I found this lying on the floor near the safe. Dad always kept the medal in the safe.

He took the small piece of paper from his pocket and gave it to George. George unfolded it and read. Code 3-6-5-8. Safe R16 L32 R47 L6.

The waitress set the coffee in front of Gary and asked, Will there be anything else this morning gentlemen?

Not right now, George said, looking toward his wrist and turning his watch so that he could read it. Maybe later, we are expecting someone else to join us very soon.

Okay, the waitress said. Just motion when they get here. She turned and went to the next table where a couple had just seated themselves.

We are? asked Gary.

Yeah, I asked Michelle to join me after she gets out of the gym. said George. You remember Michelle don’t you?

Oh sure, said Gary. "How could anyone forget Michelle? It will be nice to see her again. I saw her on the news the other night. It about floored me. I think it was my first night back home. Mother and I were watching it together and I rose up out of the chair and yelled I know that lady! I went to school with her. Mother about jumped out of her skin. It was pretty funny, but later I was sorry I did it, since she was in such a fragile state. Imagine…you live with someone for forty-two years and then all of a sudden, they’re gone and you’re all by yourself."

Anyway, those are the codes for the alarm system and the wall safe combination, said Gary. There is no reason in the world why my mother or father would have needed to write them down, and the handwriting is certainly not theirs. And another thing, there is cash missing. Mother wasn’t sure how much, but she thinks it was ten thousand dollars. She said Dad always kept a certain amount on hand in case of an emergency. There was nothing else missing that we can identify and nothing in the house was disturbed. If that piece of paper hadn’t been lying on the floor, there would not have been a thing out of place. Funny too, there was also a stack of bond certificates in the safe that were worth about sixty thousand dollars. They didn’t even look touched. I can’t understand it.

Have you called the police? asked George.

Gary’s eyes rolled.

Yeah, I called them, he said, in a disgruntled tone. You know the cops couldn’t care less about a deal like this. They probably think we are just lucky bastards who have more than we deserved anyway, so what’s a little less. I talked to a detective named Logan and he said he would keep an eye out in the pawn shops, but chances are any broker in his right mind is going to know this thing is hot as hell and they probably won’t touch it.

Logan, huh? George exclaimed. It must have been Art Logan. Well, of all the snakes in the woodpile, you managed to find the worst. I’ve had some run-ins with him myself and the guy gives me the creeps. Hell, I wouldn’t trust him any further than I could throw him. Seems like he never busts any of the really bad guys and, I’ll tell you this, there have been plenty of rumors about him down at the station.

Hello handsome, Gary heard a feminine voice say. He looked up and saw Michelle standing beside him.

Gary stood and said, Wow, Michelle Ryan, as I live and breathe. You are a beautiful lady. You know George, you are one lucky bastard.

Thank you Gary, Michelle said. He had better know. We are getting married next September. She held her hand out and showed off her bling. Gary, I am so sorry about your father, she said in a warm, soft tone. George and I were at my sister’s house in Baltimore and we didn’t even learn about it until after we got back and by then, the service was over. George said he was going to call.

Thank you very much Michelle and wow again, he said, his eyes gleaming now. That ring must have cost you a pretty penny George. You’d better treat her good, I’ll tell you that. This woman is so hot every guy in the office is probably after her. I know I’ve always been crazy about her.

George smiled and rolled his eyes.

Well, not quite every guy in the office, but most of them, said Michelle. She gave Gary a hug and a peck on the cheek, then leaned over and gave George a kiss on the lips and took the seat between them.

For a moment, Gary’s thoughts drifted back to their days at Clemson. She was always one of the most beautiful women he had ever known with her flowing, red hair and a body that was almost perfect. The only blemishes he had ever noticed on her beautiful skin were a few freckles on her nose and she covered them well. Regardless, when she smiled and looked at you with those big, gorgeous, brown eyes, nothing else seemed to matter. She always carried herself with confidence in her erect five and a half foot frame, and she dressed impeccably. There was a time he thought he had a chance with her, then along came George and swept her off her feet. George…, Gary thought, with his wide receiver body, model looks, perfect brown hair and greenish blue eyes. No wonder she was so attracted to him. Hell, back in the day, every girl in school was. Especially during his senior year at Clemson when he broke about every record in the school’s history for receiving passes. George was six feet, two inches tall, two hundred and ten pounds, and didn’t appear to have an inch of fat on him anywhere. Even after being out of school now for almost nine years, he was still in great shape, square jawed and debonair. What more could Michelle ask for in life, Gary wondered. And why has he taken so long to ask her to marry him? Maybe there is more to it than meets the eye. He caught his mind wandering and snapped back.

I’ll tell you this, he said. You two sure look good together. I’ll bet you will have five beautiful children and live happily ever after.

I think I only want three children, she said, smiling at George. I doubt I could handle any more. I remember my mother and father’s trials and tribulations with myself and my four siblings, and I don’t think I want to go through that.

The waitress appeared as if on cue. May I help you Miss? she asked, holding her check pad out in front of her with her pen in the other hand, ready to write on command.

Yes, I will have coffee and the avocado omelet with rye toast, dry please, Michelle said.

More coffee for you gentlemen? the waitress asked.

Yes, please, said George.

She picked up a coffee pot from the adjacent table and topped off each of their cups. There you are, she said with a smile and then turned and headed toward the kitchen.

Forgive me sweetheart, George said looking directly at Michelle, but Gary and I are in the middle of a discussion and we need to finish it. I will fill you in on all the gory details later.

Okay Gary, where do I fit into this scenario and how can I help you? George asked. You know that I am just a news reporter and there is a limit to how much I can do.

It’s like this, Gary said. "I’m some three thousand miles away. I need someone I can trust to track down the medal and find out