The Righteous Enemy

By Loryn Kramer

In the early 1600s, Barwicke Brannon and his wife, Nicholina, gave birth to a child on a ship bound for the New Worldonly to see the child fall ill and its illness spread. In order to save the remaining lives onboard, the child had to be sacrificed to the sea. Barwicke agreed, but he did not realize that as the baby drowned, so would his wife, as she threw herself overboard. So began the Brannon obsession with purity and a lack of genetic defect.

Centuries later, Thomas Brannon is part of the Caltech graduating class of 1955 and has been schooled in the family history well. According to the Brannons, death is sometimes necessary to ensure the survival of the human race. Riff raff are to be disposed of, while intelligence, beauty, and health are to be revered. It is an easy sell to his intellectually advanced classmates, and together they make a plan that, in time, would rule the nation.

Soon, a secret society arisesa society who uses kidnapping and rape to produce the perfect race of mankind. Now the breeding season is upon them, and years of research and surveillance are about to pay off. They will manipulate the population and the gene pool of the United States until an escape threatens to reveal their odious plan and end a four-hundred-year fight for purity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jul 9, 2012
• ISBN: 9781475927795

Loryn Kramer

Loryn Kramer is a native midwesterner who currently resides in Memphis, Tennessee. The Righteous Enemy is her first novel.

Book preview

Chapter 1

C altech’s graduating class of 1955 provided the world with hundreds of brilliant men. While other students studied alone, this group of men always gathered together. In the basement of a house that once served as a fraternity, these five men studied for their nuclear astrophysics final. They would graduate from Caltech in less than three weeks, and already secured jobs, except Warren Richards, who would continue his education in medical school. Later, he would join a private practice in Boston. Toi Yoshida, who arrived at Caltech on the prestigious and much-desired student visa, would return to Tokyo to work in the family’s textile business. Thomas Brannon would join his father at Brannon Pharmaceuticals, which operated as Brannon Medical, until recent years. Joseph Prosterman hoped to join his uncle’s legal practice. Calvin Edwards was undecided about his future, but believed it would involve chemical engineering.

The day was long, and the five students were exhausted. They took a break from their studies, long enough to enjoy a snack and give their bodies a much-needed rest. On the small television before them, a news reporter talked of the popular polio vaccine and the number of inoculations already given in the United Kingdom.

"My dad thinks the polio vaccine is a hoax. He calls it population control. The average person would trust anything the government called a vaccine." Thomas was aware that on this date, May 5, 1955, over 500,000 people in the UK were receiving the polio vaccine. He also knew millions more were expected to receive the vaccine once it was available.

My father believes it’s a conspiracy to rid the world of undesirables. You better avoid the vaccine, Joseph. Warren laughed. He would never admit he thought population control was nothing more than ludicrous.

Funny, my friend. You will hire me someday, and just so you are aware, my fee will double when it comes to bailing your ass out of jail. Tickled by the thought, he threw a tattered pillow at his friend.

What do you think, Toi-Toi? Thomas was curious about his thoughts.

"My father married my mother because he believed she was a rarity. He calls her his gem. My parents are over five-eight—an unusual height in Japan. He thought they would produce tall children. My father is a wise man."

Toi topped off at almost five feet nine inches, and his brother stood inches taller. He wanted to make a change. He thought if the Japanese were going to succeed and be respected all over the world, they needed to be stronger. There is no harm in manipulating the gene pool.

I think we’re going to find millions of people won’t be able to tolerate the vaccine and money will be wasted. The vaccine will leave thousands, indigents included, disabled or challenged—maybe even dead. This will cost our country more money. It’s that way with any new drug. Thomas heard his father say this so many times it was easy for him to quote.

Personally, I think we should rid the world of the riffraff. Our melting pot overflows with people who serve no purpose other than to suck up our wealth and dedicated work ethic. Calvin, whose bombastic father was a member of the United States Security Council, often spoke of the no-goods, who demanded the U.S. use its hard-earned money to provide for them. Like Thomas, he repeated the words he heard his father speak.

With strong and wide shoulders pushed forward, Thomas leaned into the group as though he had a secret to share. Gentlemen, I think if we put our heads together, along with our contacts and money, we can do the job. We need to make a change. We have doctors, lawyers, access to the FDA, and government contacts. Toi-Toi, I am sure we can find a way for you to contribute. In fact, you can help us make a better and more sophisticated and respected Japanese population in the U.S. Only recently, he engaged in this same conversation with his father. Edging forward in his worn chair, he grew excited at the thought.

They talked of the many prisoners on death row and the rise in the current jail population, knowing in the years to come the number of inmates would triple. As their conversation continued, they agreed all inmates should be sterilized. It would take a lot of work, but they believed with the help of others like them they could weed out the bad seeds and plant new ones. My only concern is the empty cells will become hotel suites for illegals brought in to vote for the wrong party.

A few hours later, they pledged to work together. It was understood their plan was not to be discussed with anyone, not even family—the time for that would come later. The first plan of action was to marry-up. After all, improving the gene pool started at home. Before heading back to their separate rooms, they agreed they would meet in one month to put their scheme in place.

None spoke of their own father’s work and dedication. In their own homes and upbringing, the seeds for change were planted long ago. This day was destined to occur. Their acceptance and arrival at Caltech was arranged years earlier. Their personal involvement in perfecting the gene pool was discussed by ancestors who passed away long ago.

Chapter 2

M eeting in a public venue was risky, but the members knew they would go unnoticed in the bustling resort. The luxury hotel in sunny Florida was framed with countless Queen Palms and the lobby was filled with tourists who failed to pack for the unseasonably cool temperatures. The local weatherman mistakenly promised sweltering temperatures and the possibility of a heat advisory. It was the winter holiday for most private schools, and overly stressed parents were busy and easily distracted by unruly children running out of control. It was painfully obvious the harried parents were not enjoying their vacation and would need another once their children were back in school. Men in button-down shirts and khaki pants blended in with the crowd—wearing cameras and a water bottle made one invisible.

For the members, the busy hotel was ideal. A room was obtained and swept by the security team. When the room met approval, the board was given the all-clear signal. To guests who passed by, the newspaper in front of the door indicated the guest was either away or sleeping in after a late night. To the members, it meant the room was now safe for their gathering. As a safety precaution, the rooms on either side of this room were intentionally occupied. The room to the left was perfect for the father pretending to be in Orlando for the weekend visiting his children. Upon arrival, he explained that because of his costly divorce, he was forced to pay with cash. He further explained obtaining a credit card was on his bucket list. Accepting cash payment was against the hotel’s policy, but the young desk clerk took pity on him. She agreed when he complained his ex-wife was awful. The clerk flirted with the man, and as a hotel courtesy, discounted the rate. She also slipped him her business card, along with her cell phone number.

The room to the right was the weekend crash pad of three fraternity brothers who loudly announced they were in Orlando for the weekend in search of jobs. They used a pre-paid disposable debit card to pay for the lesser room. As previously instructed, these three men demonstrated high-five skills in the lobby when they checked in. The debit card used to secure the room was cut into small pieces—each piece individually flushed down the room’s designer toilet. Their instructions were to press the toilet’s push-button trip lever twelve times when disposing of the debit card.

The divorced father stood near the three-tiered fountain in the hotel lobby. Looking to the architecture, he and snapped candid pictures. His camera was mediocre quality, and unbeknown to the guests near him, without film. He pretended to struggle with the flash while snapping photos, before continuing on his way. Through the camera’s lens, he watched as the members entered the elevators. As instructed, each waited to enter the elevator until they were certain they would ride the stainless steel, mirrored, custom, eight-by-eight cubicle alone. Three consecutive flashes from the camera indicated all members were in route. A fourth and final flash indicated they had not been followed.

Careful not to draw attention to the situation by requesting twelve individual room keys, a member waited in the meeting room and opened the door only if he knew the face through the spy hole.

Once the members were present, the chairman followed protocol as he opened the meeting. Although the gathering was a celebration, there were no balloons, and champagne was not poured into crystal flutes. With the attention of all those present focused upon him, the chairman advised his team the releases would soon begin and another successful season would soon come to a close. With great enthusiasm, he commended the board members on their actions and selections, and while surrounded with unrestricted energy, briefly discussed improved policies to be implemented immediately upon their approval.

Within hours, the Standard Operating Procedures included the necessary language to protect against and prepare for possible weak links and the risk of exposure. They ordered all hard drives destroyed. Firewalls had been successful, but computer hackers, including those who sat at home behind their self-assembled desks, were getting smarter. The risk was not one they could afford. The zero-tolerance policy they accepted and incorporated the previous year was successful. Collaborative actions were easily put into place. The members were to advise their key players of possible risks and encourage their teams to use their various skills to micromanage the unpredictable. They were to remind their teams to discourage situations that could lead to temptation. It was also necessary to advise and remind their teams a third party reported any and all suspicious behavior to the appropriate team. Big brother was always watching.

Satisfied the gathering served its purpose, the chairman adjourned the meeting. When they returned to the lobby, the members dispersed.

Chapter 3

U nder a bright winter sky, Amanda walked along the water’s edge. Her eyes were sensitive to the sun, and the constant bite of cold air burned her face. After three days of hiding behind dull, gray clouds, the sun finally made its appearance. The blue sky was vast and endless. The day was not like any she had known, not just with the snow and the sun, but how she felt about the cold air and the white crystal ground that surrounded her. Today was different. She was different. The cool temperature and dry air were gifts she welcomed and appreciated. Unable to explain or understand her feelings, she only knew to enjoy and embrace everything around her. Reaching with a gloved hand, she scooped a handful of the delicate, white crystals. Fascinated with the glittery gems, she watched as the wind blew the small flakes from her camel-colored mitten. Unaware of her dazed state, she studied her mittens. The color came as a surprise. She had never been fond of the shade.

She loved winter—crisp air so pure and clean. Again, she reached for a handful of snow, but this time she removed her mitten and blew it from her bare hand. She was warm in her belted, puffy coat—its upturned collar protected her neck from the cold breeze. Wearing furry earmuffs was a wise decision. Admiring the perfectly laced strings in her fleece-lined boots, she continued along the embankment.

With an admiring glance, she noticed the partially frozen lake. Large chunks of ice floated about. Enjoying a deep breath, she wished she could float about, too. Realizing this was how she felt about her own life, she giggled. She understood, though, that with one missed step she would fall into the freezing water. Self-assured, she moved along. She swam on her college team, excelling in the breaststroke. Feeling dazed and confused, she thought perhaps it had been the butterfly stroke. With a gentle laugh, she was convinced she was suffering from brain freeze. She was almost certain it was the butterfly stroke that landed her a college scholarship. She struggled to recall the name of the university, but trusted it would come to her later.

Up ahead, the trees bent over the embankmenttheir weak branches heavy with snow and ice. She worried she would be forced to walk up the embankment and onto private property.

Nearing the trees, she hesitated. With several kicks, she pushed the snow aside and watched the water swallow the delicate crystals. Relieved to find a slim path, she continued. Needing support, she stretched for a branch. Back on solid ground, she eyed a garden of small wreaths, each decorated with a tiny red bow and a strand of gold garland. She wondered if it was a pet cemetery. Next to the wreaths were small tiles.

Moving slowly, she turned toward the lake. She counted six houses, noticing the backside of each faced the water. Smoke rose from their chimneys, and she wondered why she never noticed this neighborhood before. Surely, I’ve driven by here. Glancing back at the path she made, she was grateful her tracks went untouched.

Reaching for the hand-painted tiles, she noticed her mittens looked old and faded. The yarn was pulled and worn, and a red spot bloodied the tip. Removing her mitten, she was surprised to find she had pricked her finger on the brittle tree branches when she maneuvered around the embankment. Feeling a chill, she quickly placed the mitten back on her hand. She found the warmth comforting. Recalling her childhood, and the many winters she played in newly fallen snow, put a smile on her face.

Like her mitten, the painted tiles were faded and the words smudged—impossible to read. It was easy to assume they were not protected from the harsh winter weather and perhaps damaged by the unforgiving heat of the summer’s sun. Moving to the next tile, she was disappointed to find, it too, suffered through the seasons.

Looking up into the yard, her eyes fell upon a knee-high wall made from river rocks. The wall rested on a small bluff, but because it was covered with snow, it was hard to be certain. Rusty urns, each placed an equal distance apart, lined the wall. Curious, she reached for the next tile. She stopped when she heard the slamming of a door. Startled, she looked up at the house. A man dressed in a blue pullover and dark jeans was making his way toward her. Although she found him familiar, she could not place him in her mind’s memory. Glancing at his feet, she was surprised he was barefoot. Recalling the chill she felt minutes earlier when she removed her mitten, she worried he must be freezing.

Keeping his distance, he stopped at the edge of his patio. Those old wreaths mark the pet cemetery. With all the snow we get in this part of the country, we lose sight when winter arrives. My children painted those old tiles.

I’ve never seen so much snow. Will spring ever arrive? Feeling a bit uncomfortable, she glanced around the property. I’m sorry for intruding. I was drawn in by the tiles. Feeling the need to explain her presence, she paused before continuing, I live nearby. I stopped only out of curiosity. Swept up in a gust of wind, she hurried to sweep the hair from her face.

Offering a smile, he placed a hand to his thick mustache. Giving it a gentle stroke, he invited her to linger. Turning toward the house, he stopped. She found his actions awkward, but when he spoke of his family, she rested her mind. My wife and children are making hot cocoa. You’re welcome to join us. He rubbed his hands together. I think you’ll enjoy the fire.

She did not find him threatening, and he did not give her a reason to fear him. Glancing over her shoulder, the swing set next to the patio pushed aside any fears. Taking a quick glance at the other houses, she slowed her step. In the house next door, a woman sat at a table in front of the window. Nearing the door, she cleared her throat. I’m impressed. The patios facing the lake have already been shoveled.

It’s important to be meticulous and tidy. Good rules to live by. The man chuckled. It’s equally important to keep the neighborhood in peace and harmony.

Before entering the house, she spotted a second set of tracks. Someone had ventured out into the great outdoors.

Passing by, her arm brushed against his. A chill ran through her. Because she had no reason to fear him, she ignored the uneasy feeling. Stepping inside, she offered to remove her boots.

If you would be more comfortable, please keep them on. The man, whose name was unknown to her, pointed to the tiled floor. The kids run in and out of the house all day, leaving wet and muddy tracks behind them.

Pulling a chair for her at the table, he called out for Helen. Pushing through a swinging door, a middle-aged woman rushed into the kitchen. Amanda immediately noticed her apron and the hand towel over her shoulder. Apologizing for the mess, the woman offered a sincere welcome.

You’re brave to go out in this weather. I’ve stayed by the fire all morning. The woman snorted a gravely laugh. I’m Helen.

Matronly and overweight, Helen was secure in her appearance. Her face was free of makeup and pale lips cried out for lipstick. Her eyes were the color of mud.

I’m Mandy…Amanda…I’m Amanda. Struggling with her name, she grew embarrassed.

Would you care for cocoa? Helen asked, offering a mug.

Thank you. I was enjoying the snow and didn’t realize how cold it was out there.

Helen poured a mug of cocoa for her and one for herself. A bowl of fluffy marshmallows was already on the kitchen table. Stroking his mustache, the man settled into a chair. Catching an odd look, he offered an explanation.

I prefer tea with a spot of sugar. Exchanging a knowing look with Helen, he lowered his voice. I really prefer a splash of whiskey, but once we started our family, I gave up alcohol. For me, it’s all about a healthy body and a sound mind.

She was embarrassed she had pictured Helen and mustache man, her only name for him, as a married couple. From their outside appearance, it was difficult to imagine they were compatible. When she noticed the woman’s brows were smeared with a thick layer of wax, she was convinced she was his mother.

Do you live in the neighborhood? Helen asked, pulling a chair from the table.

Nibbling on a cookie, she replied she lived nearby and was unaware of this neighborhood.

We’ve been here for years. We’re always buried in snow. Travel is difficult. No one ever comes out this way. When we get a break from the snow and ice, I escape to do my shopping.

Helen continued to talk, not asking about her personal life, but instead, about the snow, the upcoming holidays, and the many things she had to do when the weather allowed her to get out of the house.

While Helen spoke, she thought she heard a cry. Searching their eyes for confirmation, she allowed worry to weigh on her mind when they did not react. Before she had time to question the infant cries, classical music began to play. When her eyes fell upon speakers high above the crown molding, she grew curious. While Helen continued with talk of holiday shopping and busy stores and crowded parking lots, she listened to the music. She believed she knew this music. Searching her memory, she believed she might have played the piece on a violin. In a concert hall. Pushing her thoughts aside, she caught the mustached man staring at her. Uncomfortable, she wondered how long he had been watching her. Unable to look away, she was convinced he controlled not only her eyes, but also her thoughts.

She forced her eyes past her host and onto the black grand piano just beyond the arched doorway. From a distance, she recognized it—a Steinway. It was the model most often played by concert artists throughout the world, and the one she played in countless recitals. Lights from a crystal chandelier reflected off the black, lacquered surface. No longer warmed by the fire, she turned back to the kitchen. Outfitted with granite countertops and stone flooring, she was surprised to see an electric skillet. She was reminded of the many Sunday’s she enjoyed dinner at her grandmother’s home.

In the corner of the counter was a row of cookbooks. Arranged against the backsplash, the title of each book was proudly displayed. She was surprise to find they were wrapped in dust covers. Under the table was a blue and beige oriental rug. A closer look of the room told her this family did not display the children’s art or pictures. Feeling a chill up her spine, she wanted to go home.

I’ve over stayed my welcome. I really must be going. My family must be worried. Ignoring a wave of guilt, she made her way to the door. Thank you for your hospitality and generosity.

Brushing her off, Helen waved a hand in the air. Pay no-never mind. Common courtesy is a way of life in these parts.

Once outside, she noticed a set of footprints leading away from the patio. Steps away, were the tracks she made earlier. When she turned back to the house, she was surprised the door had already closed behind her. She felt foolish for having allowed herself to believe she had been in harm’s way. These people, strangers to her, had been kind and generous, and she welcomed the warmth of their home. Instead of returning to her path, she followed a second set of tracks. Stepping into trampled snow, she was surprised the shoe size matched hers. With the wind picking up and wet snowflakes coming down, she hurried her pace. In a changing moment, she returned to the tracks she made along the embankment. This path will lead me home.

Chapter 4

I n a posh office overlooking San Francisco’s Union Square, well-dressed men stood in a line. Following protocol, they did not make small talk. The room’s floor was comprised of reclaimed hardwood salvaged from the Delta, and the leather on the wingback chairs was the finest available on the west coast. Carved statues anchored the limestone fireplace.

Many of those in attendance traveled thousands of miles for this meeting. A young woman, unknown to most, but whose credentials the organization’s management validated, handed sealed envelopes to the men. Before doing so, she required the recipient’s signature, photo identification, and a visual check of their membership card. Without the card, they were not given the envelope or allowed to enter the boardroom. The small, plastic card did not display the true identity of the organization, but a business in service only while the meeting was conducted. The men knew the drill.

Having breached security on several levels, a man entered the boardroom. Taking a seat at the large oval table, he exchanged small talk with the men seated near him.

Would you care for a drink?

A warning in his head, and a rise in temperature, told him to stay with water. He might have gone undetected had he not displayed his gold, Montblanc fountain pen. Noticing his error, the members placed their writing pens on the table and their hands in their lap. In a room miles away, an alarm signaled a security violation. Seated in a cushioned chair unlike those around him, the chairman was handed a hardcover notebook. Standing front and center, with the attention of all those present, he read a quote from the Procedures Manual.

We have a visitor in our midst.

Before further words were spoken, a member approached the intruder. With a small, handheld device, the intruder was vacuumed. The device, known as The Invader, scanned his entire body. The Invader detects electronic devices, guns, plastics, and the most common weapon, the box cutter. It also detects the Busse Stealth Hawk knife, made of MP45, a non-metallic laminate believed to be invisible to metal detectors. Its serrated blade cuts through hard and soft surfaces. The Invader not only detects objects on the human body, but in its crevices and orifices as well. The intruder, now confirmed free of any threatening devices and who moments earlier looked quite comfortable at the oval table, wiped the sweat from his brow. He did not know moving his hand from his lap was also a violation when the room was on high alert. Hoping to find support, he looked at the men seated at the table. Panic set in when he did not find a friendly face. The chairman, unmoved by the intruder’s behavior, read the articles relevant to this unfortunate situation. The organization’s zero-tolerance policy stated that any violation, whether by a seated member, staff member, associate, or an intruder, would result in immediate termination.

Fearing a tongue whipping from his boss, the intruder begged for an opportunity to explain his presence. Displaying a seldom seen soft side, the chairman gave him his attention and the floor. The intruder sighed. He would share what he could and hope his escape plan was in place. He would never disclose that a member of the company’s security detail was his accomplice. A car waited at the front entry to the building, while a second car waited blocks away, near the south entrance to Liberty Park. He left the keys in the ignition and hoped neither was stolen in his absence. His plan included outrunning these men. To get a news-worthy story, he would need evidence. Knowing an envelope never left this room, it occurred to him a tracking device or computer chip might be attached to it or its contents. He entertained the idea of an explosive device, but because this was a meeting of a pharmaceutical company, he dismissed it. A company dedicated to saving lives would not destroy their team. All eyes were upon him while the men waited patiently for him to enlighten them.

He identified himself as Wade Leahy, a writer for M-Press, a journal reporting advancements in medicine. He surprised the board when he advised them he was aware Brannon Pharmaceuticals reached an exclusive deal with the U.S. Government regarding the flu vaccine. He also believed Brannon Pharmaceuticals was in communication with foreign health officials to secure the sale of the flu vaccine overseas, which could possibly result in a shortage for U.S. citizens. He was interrupted when a phone was handed to the chairman of the meeting. The chairman did not explain he would be making a call—he did not have to explain anything to anyone. Numbed by the silence, Wade assumed he was to hold his explanation until the chairman was available to listen.

In his wait, he thought of earlier days when he spoke with his editor regarding this meeting. He approached his boss, Ed Curry, for permission to cover the press conference promised by Brannon. In truth, they never promised a press release, but he was aware of the meeting. The words of his boss raced through his mind. "Wade, you