Infinity Now

By John Clark

"William Thayer is plucked from a prized job as a researcher at Princeton University and offered an even better position with the government at a secret facility on the MIT campus administering mankind's greatest medical discovery. Why? He doesn't know. But, soon, events begin occurring which lead him to believe the new job is not what he thought it was."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 21, 2020
• ISBN: 9781984578822

John Clark

John C. Clark (PhD, University of Toronto) is associate professor of theology at Moody Bible Institute in Chicago, Illinois. He and his wife, Kate, live in Chicago with their two children.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

The young boy was gently awakened from a deep sleep and led by a white-robed figure from his dormitory room into a long, ill-lit hallway. The robed figure loomed over him holding his hand and silently, but insistently, leading him down the hallway toward an elevator. There, the ghostly figure pressed a button labeled 2. As the elevator descended, the figure gently put its arm around the boy's shoulders. The elevator stopped moving and the door opened quickly with a loud swishing sound. The figure and the boy stepped out into another long, windowless corridor. They walked slowly to its end, then turned right into another, even more dimly lit, shadowy hallway. On the right, about half way down, they arrived at two large metal doors. The figure pressed a button on the wall. A voice emanating from the locked room said quietly Is he ready? Yes answered the robed figure.

As the doors slowly swung open, the bright light within illuminated what appeared to be an operating room. There were two beds. In one lay an old man -either dead or deeply sedated. The other was empty. As the boy entered the room, the robed figure whispered to him Don't be afraid. This is for science. The doors slowly closed, leaving the shadows to again dance on the silent corridor walls.

CHAPTER ONE

Deep under an unnamed Massachusetts Institute of Technology campus building, lies a cavernous basement, teeming with laboratories, offices, libraries, conference rooms, large and small storage rooms, cryogenic rooms, animal cages, various climate controlled areas, surgical rooms, and buzzing with the bee-like activity of white robed technicians. It is filled with cutting edge, sophisticated, technological apparatuses, machinery, pipes, tubes, lights, signals, top-of-the line security systems, large freezers, communication and monitoring systems and banks and banks of computers and servers. The operation is reminiscent of the Manhattan project, on even a grander scale.

William Thayer walked through the massive facility, accompanied by a woman named Sandra, his tour director. Thayer, who held a doctorate in biochemistry from Stanford, had just been hired to work in the facility’s toxic warfare department. He was shocked, both at the size of the structure and by the realization that he’d never heard of it before. Sandra was pleasant, if professional, as she showed him around the first level of the facility. Thayer wondered about the purpose of the place. He’d been led to believe it was a militarily funded project to deflect the effects of biological weapons of mass destruction. But, something didn’t seem right. There seemed to be so many disciplines represented here: many more than necessary to combat biological warfare. It mattered little to Thayer. He’d been hired for a specific purpose: to research ways in which to neutralize the effects of organophosphates, or nerve gas. The job paid well. He’d even patiently put up with the frustratingly lengthy security clearance process in the lobby of the structure. No problem. He had nothing to hide. And, he’d agreed to sign a confidentiality agreement, as a prerequisite for his employment.

Sandra led him to his office, It was relatively spacious, featuring a large, oak desk, four comfortable-looking chairs, walls of filing cabinets and a litany of computers and monitors. Wow, thought Thayer, This is going to be cool.

Next, Sandra led him down a long corridor to an office labeled Toxic Warfare Research Manager. She introduced him to Martin Lewis. This is your immediate supervisor, Mr. Thayer. Sandra left, somewhat surreptitiously.

Hi Bill, said Lewis.

Thayer corrected him: I go by William.

Fine, said Lewis, Welcome to the Army’s Institute on Toxic Warfare. I’ve just finished reviewing your resume. Quite impressive. BA’s in biology and chemistry from Rutgers. A doctorate in molecular biology from Stanford. You finished first in your class at Rutgers and fourth at Stanford. In addition to your doctoral thesis on the immunology of cell and tissue transplantation, you’ve written a couple of impressive essays on cell grafting for spinal cord injury repair and choroid plexus epithelial cell transplants for repair of the brain. You’re considering enrolling in medical school and you’re currently employed as a neurobiological researcher at Rutgers. And, I’ve heard quite a bit about you. You’re obviously highly educated, intelligent and, from what I understand, loyal to this nation, as well, I might add, to the New York Mets. I think you’ll be able to help us a lot.

Thank you sir, said Thayer, feeling both flattered and impressed with Lewis’ homework.

One thing you need to know about your job here is that your duties may change from time to time. Is that a problem for you?

No. Sir. I’m here to serve in the best way I can.

Good. Your initial duty is to research new and inventive ways to counteract organophosphates, or nerve agents. You will have several assistants at your disposal and the best technology our country has to offer. If there’s anything you need, anything at all, just ask.

Thank you, sir. I will.

Great, Thayer. Time to get started. I assume you know where your office is.

Yes, I do and thank you, sir, Thayer said as he left for his office. Once there, Thayer looked around and made a mental inventory of the things he needed. He was soon interrupted by a voice asking Is there anything you need right away, Mr. Thayer? The voice was female.

Thayer looked up and found himself facing an attractive, middle-aged woman. She looked a bit like Meg Ryan. I’m not sure yet, he responded.

Okay. My name is Maggie and I’ve been assigned to you as senior assistant.

Do you have a professional specialty, Maggie?

Yes. I have a doctorate in microbiology from Johns Hopkins.

Is this your first job?

No. I worked for years at Walter Reed researching forensic toxicology.

Pretty impressive, Thayer replied.

I don’t know. This job is so much more interesting.

So, we’re supposed to save the world by coming up with an antidote for nerve gas?

Something like that.

Well, that’s okay. But many have tried and failed. I wonder why anyone thinks we can succeed.

Maybe they don’t. But, we’ve got to keep trying.

Touche, Thayer said and I’ll do the best I can.

So will I, said Maggie. By the way, you will eventually have three assistants – all well qualified and under my immediate supervision.

Fine, said Thayer. The more the better. This is going to be a big job.

In the lab next door is every kind of nerve agent known to man. We have a large supply of research animals, mainly rats. And, the technology here is absolutely cutting edge.

Great, I’ll get started tomorrow with my sleeves rolled up.

That’s a good sign. I have other duties here and have to leave now.

Nice meeting you, Maggie. Thayer had nothing left to do, but didn’t want to leave before 5:00 p.m. on his first day on the job. He made a list of those basic items he needed: paper, pencils, pens, thumbtacks, a stapler, scotch tape, and the like. It was 4:00 p.m. when he finished. He left the list on his desk and decided to look around the facility – without a tour guide. This turned out to be more daunting than he’d anticipated. The building was huge, probably larger than Grand Central Station. Thayer guessed that it was at least twice as spacious as the five story structure under which it rested.

The place was a maze of hallways, stairwells and elevators. Thayer entered an elevator and looked at the interior wall. There were three numbers and an L, indicating that the complex consisted of at least three levels. Under the buttons was a slot, apparently for insertion of a card. Thayer inserted his security card and pushed the button marked One. The doors closed, but the elevator didn’t move. Okay, he thought, I’m on Level One. He then depressed the button marked Two. From somewhere, a female voice chided: You are not authorized to travel to this level. He looked around the elevator and spotted a small speaker on the ceiling, from which he surmised the voice had emanated.

Thayer pushed the button marked Three. Same voice, same result. Okay, he said aloud, let’s try this. He pushed the button marked L. The elevator rose one level. As the door opened, a large, armed, uniformed man approached: Can I see your security clearance key card, sir? Thayer pulled it out of his coat pocket and handed it to the guard. He recalled how complex the security process had been when he’d entered the building a few hours earlier. Actually, excessive was a better word, he thought. He’d had to show his clearance card to three different guards, remove his shoes and overcoat, open his briefcase for inspection and pass through two metal detection/X-ray gates, before meeting Sandra at the elevator door. The procedure took at least twenty minutes. It was like the airport from hell. He hoped he wouldn’t have to repeat the process now.

Instead, the guard returned Thayer’s clearance card: Are you leaving the building, sir?

No, replied Thayer, This is my first day of work here and I’m just looking around, trying to familiarize myself with the place.

Well, responded the guard, according to your card you are restricted to Level One – so I wouldn’t look around too much.

Fine, replied Thayer as he entered the elevator and depressed the button marked One. Back on the first level, he continued his tour. After five minutes, and having turned down at least eight hallways – each appearing to have no actual destination, Thayer wondered whether he’d be able to find his way back to his office. Maybe I should have dropped some cookie crumbs, he thought bemusedly. The doors he passed were labeled surgery, cyrogenics, storage, sterile lab and the like. Almost all were marked restricted or high clearance only. There were no reader boards or similar forms of guidance. Some of the workers he passed gave him slightly quizzical looks. One, a white-robed female technician (he guessed) asked: Can I help you find something?

No. This is my first day here. I’m just looking around. From the woman’s expression, Thayer could tell just looking around was not an appropriate activity. Actually, he continued, I think I’m lost.

The technician asked where he worked. Thayer told her and she gave him directions to his office – a long series of left and right hand turns. He tried to memorize at least the first few turns, then asked: What direction is my office from here? The woman turned facing north and responded It’s southeast from here.

Thayer thanked her and began the complicated journey back to his office. As he walked, he looked back over his shoulder at the technician. She hadn’t moved and seemed to be watching him closely.

Thayer passed a door marked Male Facilities. He hoped it was a bathroom. He turned the door handle. It was locked. There was a small slot under the handle, into which he shoved his clearance card. The door opened. He walked in, used the urinal and washed his hands in a sink over which hung a large mirror. He looked at the visage staring back at him. The image was that of a young, thirty-something man with sandy brown, uncombed, longish hair. A neatly trimmed moustache framed the upper of two full lips. A slight stubble rose from the cheeks and chin. Brown, arched eyebrows sat above deep blue eyes. A barely noticeable furrow ran the length of the forehead. The face was thin, featuring high cheekbones. A slight diastema parted his two upper front teeth. It was the image of a handsome, though somewhat unkempt face –somewhat resembling Richard Chamberlain.

Thayer left the bathroom and continued his struggle to find his office. Now I know how Lewis and Clark must have felt, Thayer muttered to himself. He looked for a water fountain. There was none. Even if he’d found one, he’d probably have to use his clearance card to make it work. When he surmised he was about half way through his journey, he stopped another white-robed technician and again asked for directions.

Thayer continued on his way and eventually found the door labeled Neural Toxicology. The door led to a suite of, perhaps, twelve offices. He found his, noticing that someone had already installed a sign on the door reading William, Thayer, Neural Immunologist. As he entered his office, he wondered how he’d achieved such a lofty title.

He sat at his desk and opened the drawers. All were empty. He looked through the four file cabinets in the office. Same result. It was 5:30 p.m. Thayer decided to leave for the day. He grabbed his briefcase, closed the self-locking office door and headed for the elevator. There was not nearly as much bustle in the hallways now. Once in the lobby, he was subjected to nearly the same level of security he’d undergone when he arrived earlier in the day. Thayer recalled an ominous sign he’d seen during his travels on the lower level. It read: Nothing Leaves this Facility, Except You. Great. Well, this was a crucial and potentially vulnerable, military research facility. He simply wasn’t used to such a high level of secrecy.

Once out of the building, Thayer walked to the sixteen level parking garage across the street, found his rented green Mustang convertible, drove out and began negotiating the streets of Boston. It was rush hour and he’d never seen so much traffic – certainly not in New Brunswick or Palo Alto. The government had arranged for a relatively nice hotel room at the Courtyard by Marriott in Brookline, approximately ten miles south of Cambridge.

It took him about forty five minutes to reach the hotel. Once in his room, Thayer set his briefcase on the bed and opened it. It contained only materials he’d been provided at the office that day. The material dealt with security procedures and policies. He placed the stuff on a bedside table, intending to read it that night.

Next, Thayer checked his cell phone. It had been turned off all day at the request of his new employer. There were two messages from Shannon. He listened to the first: Hi William, it’s Shannon. I just wanted to talk. Call me back. The second had been left just five minutes ago: It’s Shannon again. You should be back from work by now. Please call me.

Thayer walked to a dresser, on top of which lay his open suitcase. He pulled a small, metal flask out and took a couple of slugs. It was bourbon, Wild Turkey to be precise, and it helped to relax him after what had been a surprisingly stressful day.

The hotel had a no smoking policy. Ignoring it, Thayer walked to a window and opened it. He was pleasantly surprised that it wasn’t sealed. Although his room was on the second floor, and it would have been very difficult for him to commit suicide by jumping out, most hotel windows were sealed on every floor. Probably an insurance thing, he thought. Thayer lit a cigarette, took a couple of drags and set it on the window sill. He walked away from the window, picked up the cell phone and sat at the head of the bed. He looked around the room. It was tastefully furnished. Just off the bedroom, opposite the bathroom, was a sitting room containing a small setee, desk, green-shaded floor lamp, a secretary chair and a wired internet connection. It was obviously intended to be used as an office. A large mahogany dresser dominated the wall opposite the bed. A Carl Peters reproduction hung above it. Other paintings and illustrations from lesser artists adorned the walls. All were brightly colored and most were non-abstract. Generally, Thayer didn’t care for the art hung in places of public accommodation, but he was impressed, almost cheered, by the selection and clarity of the paintings in his room.

To his left, next to the sitting room door, sat a large maple entertainment center featuring a television set, stereo system and DVD player. To his right was a large, plum-colored upholstered couch. It looked to be even more comfortable than the bed.

Thayer