Redemption of a City

By James D. Rasmussen

Redemption of a City is a fictional, futuristic look at consequences of a technically and economically challenged present and future contentment.

The story is fast-paced with a look at controversial subject matters and situations, based upon the fictional aspects of the story.

Stephanie is an Investigative Journalist in the city of Chicago in the year 2056. She is investigating the events of the past 44 years that have led to the current state of her city. She exposes corruption and deception. But her biggest discovery is unbelievable.

Will the story end here? The sequel to Redemption of a City, entitled The Search for Them, will be released in fall 2017.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: May 9, 2017
• ISBN: 9781532023859

James D. Rasmussen

James Rasmussen was born in Burlington Wisconsin in 1965. He has lived in Milwaukee, Wisconsin; Syracuse, New York and Las Vegas, Nevada. He is currently in back as a resident in Burlington with his cats. ‘Redemption of a City’ is his first novel.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

It is a time when content needs challenging by inspiration to make change. Is the future set on a direct, unchangeable course? How much change can one person make? Can one change matter? Can the Butterfly Effect—one small act multiplying in time that eventually causes effect on a mass scale—truly control the future?

It is a time when content needs challenging by inspiration to make change. Challenge to change by the inspiration of people, even if only by one. Change made that eventually causes effect on a mass scale to better the world.

CHAPTER 1

August 2010 – Classified Location

Rain pounds down on empty pavement like a sledgehammer. The thunder and lightning enchant the sky like an 18th-century opera. Inside the soundproof research lab is as quiet as a church. Seven researchers in white lab coats are all busy, going about their responsibilities. Two of the research scientists begin working confidently on their computers. The clicking of the keyboard strokes starts to echo throughout the lab. The other scientists work in unison with eyedroppers, flasks, and mechanical laboratory equipment, the kind that never existed before their experiments. The researchers are young scientists of various ethnic, social, and political backgrounds.

Karen, working on a computer, states, Everything is looking good, eighteen months of work and we’re so close.

Jon, the eldest and leader of the group, remarks, This will change history. We all took a risk with this research and there is no going back.

The others are hesitant to reply to his comment, concentrating on their own specific responsibilities. Although they have been in the lab for fourteen straight hours, there is a sense of excitement lingering in the white, cold, brightly illuminated room. All their schooling, studying, and hard work is about to be rewarded.

The mechanical accelerator suddenly screams with a high-pitched noise resembling that of a dentist’s drill.

Minutes later, Jon takes the finished sample out of the machine, smiles, and declares, One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.

The others take amusement as to the silly cliché statement. Karen is the only one to remark. Back to earth, okay, Jon?

He concurs with the rest of the group about the successful product now in the process of being secured into an airtight sealed specimen container.

Derek helps Jon shut down the accelerator machine. Derek comments, I can’t believe what we have achieved here. This is truly groundbreaking.

Jon answers back, Who could believe what could be accomplished by young minds from different backgrounds.

The rest of the group knows of what Jon is speaking. Five years ago, they did not even know each other. Today, Jon from Iowa, Derek from Inner Chicago, and Karen from California are the leaders, all working together on this technological future-changing project.

Jon ads, Who has the champagne?

Karen answers, Right here.

Pop. The cork from the champagne bottle strikes the ceiling. The overflow from the bottle rushes from the desktop down to the laboratory floor. The following cheers from the scientists transform the quiet lab into a party atmosphere.

Their excitement continues as the scientists proceed to close down the lab for the evening. Their attention changes to the task of shutting down computers and cleaning their equipment. They know the faster these tasks are completed, the faster their celebration can continue.

Unnoticed, a shadow appears in the distance. The shadow disappears, blending into the darkness behind the storage shelves. Then suddenly, Jon becomes aware that something is not right.

What the…

Jon looks up, and before he can put his arms in a defensive act, his eyes widening in his surprise, he receives a bullet to his chest.

Gunshots echo throughout the concrete- and steel-structured lab. Before anyone can speak, they are all lying flat down on the cold floor in fear and disbelief.

Derek, a six-foot-five-inch-tall, athletically built man yells out, Who is this? What do you want?

An unrecognizable voice responds, Stay on the ground, be quiet, and you will live.

The young scientists comply with the request.

One lone, tall figure in black puts a USB port into Karen’s computer and begins downloading files. As he waits for the files, he grabs some research notebooks, a lime green folder, and the specimen container. Once the computer screen reads DOWNLOAD COMPLETE, the tall man adds the USB to the gym bag with the other items he’s collected.

The tall man does not have to say anything. The researchers on the floor can hear him walking through the lab. They want to get a look at the intruder, but the tall counters outlining the narrow passages make it impossible. They would have to rise off the floor, which would put them in harm’s way. The tall man walks toward the hazardous material shelf. He pushes down the shelving with one stroke of his arm, and the act proceeds to dump out various chemicals onto the lab floor, most of which read FLAMABLE.

As he walks out the front door with his bag, the tall man takes his lighter, lights it, and drops it behind the closing door. The flame from the lighter ignites the spilled chemicals now flowing through the room.

Before the door shuts, the tall man yells out, No one is to move for ten minutes. I will be back.

Inside the lab, no one makes a sound. The fire starting to spread is the only noise. The few scientists not wounded wonder when the stranger will return. They remain crouched down in silence.

The tall man makes his way through the parking lot, proceeds to get into his car, and starts driving away. Soon, he feels the vibration of an explosion. He sees it fifty yards behind in his rearview mirror as he continues down the road.

The solitude of the lab makes for an easy escape; its location of privacy for the controversial research was playing to the tall man’s advantage. His thoughts were racing. Not all small steps for man, or giant leaps for mankind, are worthy.

The young scientists involved were not ready for the implications that resulted from their actions.

Minutes before the explosion, one of the research scientists was lying on the floor, watching blood rush from a gunshot wound in his thigh. He dragged himself across the floor behind a workbench. He knew that he had to be quiet, not let on about his non-fatal gunshot wound.

After a few minutes, he heard the crashing of containers onto the hard floor. The harsh chemical odors start to penetrate his nose. He then heard someone talking loudly but did not understand the words. Then, after hearing a door slamming, he peeked around the workbench.

That had to be the front door, the wounded man thought. Whoever it was must be gone. I need to act quickly.

He then crawled toward the rear of the lab on his three healthy limbs. Agonizing as he reached up to open the rear emergency door, the man was able to limp his way through and kept going until a blast launched him to the ground. Only the down slope landscape that was now wet from the rain kept him from further harm’s way. His painful roll down the soggy hill outside the emergency door almost knocked him unconscious.

Now looking up at the blaze, the man has only one regret. As he lies in the wet grass, thigh still throbbing in pain, he feels sorrow over his inability to help the other researchers, his friends. I did not have enough time to help anyone else.

With a full moon illuminating him, the man, named Mark, wipes his long, wet, thinning hair away from his eyes and takes off his lab coat. He then tears off a large strip of fabric and proceeds to wrap it around his wounded thigh. He is able to stop the bleeding but knows he needs to get help immediately. Sitting in the grass watching the engulfing fire, Mark contemplates the situation. Who, or what, is responsible for this? Why?

CHAPTER 2

November 2010 – Los Angeles, California

A stocky guard emerges from a storage room labeled RESTRICTED. The guard walks through various locked gates, fumbling with his keys and trying not to attract any attention. The steel gates echo with a loud clank as they close behind him. The squeaking sound of the locks securing is a relieving sound to the nervous man. The small package in his hand is too large to conceal in any pockets, so he just holds it out in open sight.

It’s my lunch, thought the stocky man—his explanation if he is questioned.

He walks out through the guarded entrance of the highly secure prison, having to show his credentials at three different levels on his way out. His shift is over, and he makes it out of the building safely. Whew, he gasps with a sigh of relief as he walks briskly through the parking lot toward his vehicle, grasping the small brown-bagged package.

Later that night, out of his uniform, the stocky man sits waiting in a small coffee shop. He checks the clock on the wall, then his watch. This routine continues for the next fifteen minutes. The coffee shop is a nostalgic railcar diner. Most of the occupants are homeless, in for a cheap cup of coffee and warmth.

The dark smoke from the grill overflows above the rows of cheap plastic booth seats. The aroma of overused deep fried grease lingers throughout the railcar. The smell teases the hungry stocky man. He knows that the coffee is the only thing he can afford.

A woman behind the counter asks the stocky man if he wants a refill for his coffee. Reluctantly, the man looks again at his watch and agrees to the refill. The stocky man adds more sugar to his recently refilled cup. He does so with one arm as his left hand grasps the small package in his coat pocket. His grip on the bag is so tight that his hand begins to dis-color and grow sore. Where the hell is—

A tall man interrupts the guard’s thoughts as he awkwardly walks through the entrance of the diner. He is dressed in all black—a black turtleneck underneath a black fitted jacket. Once noticed, the tall man walks toward the guard.

The stocky guard loosens his grip on the bag.

Thank god, about time, he thinks to himself.

Without exchanging any conversation, the stocky man hands over the small, brown-bagged package. Keeping his hand out, he receives an envelope in exchange with one hundred dollar bills sticking out.

The stocky man grabs the envelope and searches the room with a look of paranoia. While fingering through the envelope’s contents, he counts to himself and releases a sigh of relief. He then checks his watch one more time as he nods his head in confirmation of the envelope’s contents. The tall man then takes the package and puts it into his jacket pocket. With a quick nod of his head, he proceeds to walk confidently out of the coffee shop, tilting his head to fit through the small railcar door opening.

The stocky guard is relieved that the transaction is now complete. Uh…um. Uh…um… Knowing that he now has some money in his wallet, he turns around and gets the attention of the waitress behind the counter. The hungry, stocky man takes in a deep breath of the smoky atmosphere and proceeds to order dinner with a smile on his face.

January 2011 – Zhob, Pakistan

A local young boy runs his fastest out