Savior

By James Simpson

When a concussion at the National Championship Game lands Sam Brock, star quarterback for the University of Oklahoma Sooners, in the hospital, a sample of his blood is tested by a secretive medical research lab.

When the blood is found to have a rare antigen that would lead to a cure for HIV/AIDS, Sam is kidnapped and becomes a pawn in a world unfamiliar and deadly. He draws the attention of two rival clandestine medical research groups...one dedicated to a humanitarian mission to bring the vaccine to the less fortunate of the planet, the other clear in its greed to provide the vaccine to only those wealthy enough to afford the drug.

The cure to HIV/AIDS has also drawn the interest of a powerful religious zealot who believes the coming plague is God's punishment to the immoral and vows to eliminate Sam. He hires two of the world's deadliest assassins to hunt down and kill Sam before he reaches the research lab in Australia. Sam finds the love of his life along the way and must decide his destiny...forsake his freedom to save humanity or pursue his love for Gail...all before the assassin's noose closes in.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Simpson
• Release date: Jun 19, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223492368

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Miami, Florida

The annual College Football National Championship game to decide the year’s best college football team wasn’t yet five minutes old when I called thirty- four, red dog, bootleg right—one of the squad’s better-producing plays that year. Tim Childs, the LSU all-American defensive end, not buying the fake, stuck his helmet under my chinstrap, and the lights went out. Too bad. Seldom do the two best teams in the restructured play-off system meet for the undisputed national champion. This year, both squads completed the year undefeated and anxiously waited for the chance to play. For me the game seemed over in an instant—the entire year gone in a legal, brutal hit. That was the University of Oklahoma’s undoing, 34–0, and I never saw it.

1

My eyes started to focus, the ceiling light fixture staring at me. I felt numb and confused, but all my limbs seemed to move without too much problem. I tried to move, but even the weight of the sheets seemed too much. I could smell the odor of disinfectant and bleach. I thought the plastic-laminated cabinets fit in with the stark-white walls.

As I looked around, I suddenly realized I’d never been sick a day in my life. I’d never seen the inside of a hospital except for the annual team physicals. Now that I think about it, I never even had the standard childhood illnesses. God knows my mother dragged me around to every kid in Enid with measles, mumps, or chicken pox even though I had all the vaccinations. She still believed the old wives’ tales. Nothing at all, not even a cold. I never gave it a second thought. But hell, what do kids know?

After a few moments, a nurse came in. Glad to see you’re awake. She picked up a clipboard and leafed through the pages. We all had you down for today in the nurse’s pool. Too bad you didn’t stay under another hour, though. Would’ve put a hundred bucks in my pocket.

Gee, thanks, I mumbled, my mouth feeling like a wad of cotton was jammed in it. What happened? Where am I?

You’re in the Miami-Dade County Hospital, she replied. You’ve suffered a concussion and maybe a few cracked ribs. What had us really worried is that you’ve been unconscious since they brought you in last night. Tough hit. I watched the game. It looked as though it hurt.

Did we win?

No. Sorry. OU got killed. Her eyebrows arched over a wicked smile.

Not an OU fan? I asked, already knowing the answer.

Not hardly, LSU grad, 2015. Too bad I didn’t have money on the game.

The realization of my situation hit me like a ton of bricks. My chance of a lifetime, something I dreamed of since I grew up in Enid—quarterback for the Sooners, going to and winning the national championship, then going pro. I guess it’s over now.

After a few days in bed, I felt restless. I wanted to get up and move around more than the nurses would allow. The staff told me my concussion had been one of the worst they’d ever seen. For my own safety, they wanted me to take it easy. I still had a little double vision, but otherwise, I felt fine. But the doctors wanted a few more days of observation time.   After that I could go home.

––––––––

She came in late one night, someone new, a nurse I wasn’t familiar with. Her crisp, green scrubs didn’t look as if they had been long out of the shop. She approached the bed pushing a small cart with a collection of vials, needles, and rubber tourniquets. As she took my arm and applied the band around my bicep, it felt good to have human contact again. At least I had feeling in my limbs. Hello, I’m here to take a blood sample. Just routine, she said.

She applied the tourniquet around my right arm and asked me to clench my fist. The vein popped up, and she slid the needle in under the skin.

I hate needles. No problem, I just have a thing about giving blood. I only have a limited supply, I said, trying to be funny.

That’s a new one. Haven’t heard that before. She glanced at me, faking honesty. It won’t hurt much, just one vial for a workup, and I’m gone. A smile crossed her face.

That’s what they all say, I replied, trying to sound macho. I admit, though, I haven’t had too many. No one has ever given me a shot that didn’t hurt, but you came damn close.

She thanked me and left; it wasn’t long until I went to sleep.

––––––––

I didn’t want the wheelchair. I thought I could walk out on my own. But they said rules are rules, so I didn’t have much choice. The nurse behind the desk seemed nice enough, wanting to know how I felt and saying the staff wished me all the best. I thanked her and was about to tell the attendant to wheel me out to the parking lot when I thought of something.

Oh, one thing I want to know, I asked, the nurse that came in two days ago and took a blood sample, how did that turn out? Let me check. It should be on your chart. She turned and

took a file off the desk behind her.

After a few minutes of paper shuffle, she turned back to me. That’s funny. There’s no record of any blood work done on you after the first night. Are you sure it was in this hospital?

I know I had a pretty large bump on my head, but trust me—I hate needles, and I know when one is stuck in me! Two nights ago, I believe, she came in and took a vial of blood for what she called a workup. It didn’t seem unusual at the time. She wore standard scrubs, with the hospital logo.   Oh, and a silver necklace, heart-shaped pendant, with sort of a ruby-looking drop. My head started to throb, and I just wanted to be out of here and on my way back to Oklahoma.

The nurse once again looked through the file. Sorry, there’s nothing on the charts. I’ll pass it along to my supervisor and let you know, she said with some finality.

The warm winter air of Miami felt silky. I’ve never lived anywhere but Oklahoma. Growing up with hot summers and bitter, cold winters, it doesn’t take much imagination to know why the population here has exploded. As fast as the Corps of Engineers could drain the Everglades, a new housing project sprang up.

Once out of the hospital, I stood up without a nurse hovering nearby for the first time in four days. My legs felt a little weak, but it felt good to walk on my own. Mike Howard, the team trainer, met me with a smile. How are you feeling? Mike had been the OU trainer for as long as anyone in Norman could remember, and my close friend for the past four years.

Fine, I guess. Still a little woozy, but okay.

You took a bad hit, but you’re going to mend. It’s really too bad. The concussion you had two years ago wasn’t bad, but this one, wow! Mike stuffed his hands into his pockets. You really had us worried. You were unconscious for over sixteen hours. I hate to say it, but the pro scouts have all but given up on you, Mike told me with a little sadness in his voice.

That’s okay too. At least we got to go to the game. I wanted

to say more, but that ended the strained conversation.

Where to? Mike asked.

I guess home. I think I’ve had all the fun I can stand in Miami. A white SUV waited at the curb with the engine idling and the back doors open. The driver gave a nod of his head as we got in the backseat. It’s just a short ride to the airport. We have plenty of time for your flight.

I didn’t feel the need for small talk, lost in my thoughts, and really there was nothing much to say. I had graduated early and run out of eligibility, so it was time for me to move on to the real world.

The American Eagle commuter flight from DFW landed in Oklahoma City, and the short drive back to my apartment only intensified my sorrow in not delivering a championship to the good people of Oklahoma.

Mike came around the back of the car. What are you going to do now?

I need a few days to go over my options. I’m thinking about calling Jan, my sister, and see if she will let me tag along on her sorority’s ski trip. I’ll be in touch. I watched as he got into his car with his wife, Donna. Like they say, there’s always next year. It had been a long day when Mike drove off. I glanced up the street as I took the apartment key card out of my pocket. The dark town car parked at the curb seemed out of place. As I stood at my front gate, the two heavyweight men who approached me seemed even stranger in the quiet neighborhood.

Are you Sam Brock? the larger of the two asked. Yeah, what can I do for you?

We have a request. Get in the car. Obviously not a multiple-

choice question.

And if that isn’t in my plans? I spoke with a defiant attitude,

but it didn’t impress the large man.

Your choice, hardball or softball. He shrugged his shoulders

as he replied in a guttural voice.

I’d been beat up enough in the past few days, so I elected to go the softball route. I figured it would be the least painful for now. I moved toward the open door and started to lower myself into the backseat.

Unlike before, I never felt the needle. All I remember is the feeling of dreamland once again in my head. Deep sleep— nothing to worry about. I accepted the darkness like a man in the desert given a glass of ice water.

2

The gruff, muscular man rolled the unconscious body over on the cold sidewalk. Yeah, it’s him. Put him in the backseat and throw that blanket over him, he said as he moved backward a step. I’ll help you. Just let me look around and make sure we weren’t seen. They’ll have our ass if we don’t get this guy out of the country without any problems.

What’s the big deal? I’ve never been told so little about one target or seen so much cloak-and-dagger nonsense. This seems very strange, especially for a washed-up OU quarterback. I should give him a swift kick for the grand I lost on him.

Shut up, pick up his feet, and get him in the car. The Gulfstream is waiting at Will Rodgers. I have a feeling that we’ll be glad when this is over. The whole deal spooks me too. But hey, the money is right.

The dark car sped off into the night and in an hour pulled up to a private hangar at Will Rodgers World Airport. The limo drove into the hangar housing the sleek private jet. The driver’s side window rolled down as the car came to a stop. A figure started to come down the stairs of the jet.

Hurry up and get him into the cabin. Be careful with him. Our client wants him to be comfortable on his trip—ha ha! As if he’ll care with all the happy drugs he has in him. Bet he hasn’t slept like this in years! The bull terrier built man wore a short military-style haircut and had the look of someone not to be taken lightly. His attire—slacks and polo—didn’t really suit his massive build. He threw the still-limp body over his shoulder and marched up the stairs of the Gulfstream G750, the latest addition to the world’s sexiest fleet of business jets. He placed Sam on the forward couch. There, sleep well. You won’t even know you’re on the plane.

The stout man came down the stairs and moved around to the rear of the hangar. He stopped at the back wall and moved a pile of rags uncovering an envelope, large and bulky.

Hey, you two, come around here. I got your payment.

The two men stepped around to the back of the plane. The large man in the polo motioned them to the back of the hangar. He put his hand in the envelope and drew it out. He held a large automatic equipped with a menacing-looking silencer.

Sorry, guys. Orders.

Two barely audible pops and the two abductors lay on the hangar floor. As they bled out the last of their blood supply, a curious look of surprise was etched on their faces.

Two men carrying a plastic tarp appeared from the opposite side of the hangar and walked toward the bodies. They looked at the large man and then at the bodies.

Take care of these two and make it fast. The plane leaves in fifteen minutes, and if you’re not on it...

The implication was understood, and the two men quickly wrapped the bodies in the plastic and carried them to a trash bin outside the hangar.   As the plane moved on to the ramp, one of the men poured gasoline on the blood that slowly ran toward the central drain. The man emptied the gas can toward the back of the hangar wall where several drums of liquid marked Flammable were stacked. The other took a small, black box out from his pocket and placed it in the pool of gasoline, turning a knob set to forty-five minutes.

Ready to go, he said, and they headed for the Gulfstream,

covering their ears to block the high-pitch noise of the right

engine running at idle. "We’ll be long gone when this place goes

up. Too bad, I like to see the results of my hard work," he said

with a laugh.

Whose hangar is this anyway?

"Who cares. In about an hour, it’ll belong to the

insurance company!"

A few minutes later, the Gulfstream lifted off and headed east into the black night.

3

A stark ceiling fixture stared down at me once again. This time I felt the restraints, thick leather straps designed to keep the occupant firmly anchored to the bed. I wasn’t going anywhere no matter how hard I tried. I looked around the room. It was cold and barren. The bed reminded me of those in the hospital I had just left, with the chrome bars to keep the occupant from rolling out in the middle of the night. A small desk and chair were on the wall opposite the bed, and a coat rack in the corner held what I assumed were the clothes I arrived in—a pair of jeans, shirt, and sweater. I felt boxers or some sort of underwear, but I couldn’t move my arms to confirm.

She came in like a silent angel—beautiful, regal, with the look

of someone totally in charge. How are you feeling? she asked,

seeming not to want a detailed answer.

Fine, I guess. Where am I? And for that matter, why in the hell am I here?

"You’re in the Facility, in Geneva, Switzerland, and you’ve been here for two days. The why is complicated and really doesn’t have a bearing on you—for now, anyway, she answered in a low voice. I have to tell you that you’re here for a reason, one that is very important and can change the face of the world. If you’re up to it." I could sense by her expression that she wasn’t telling me the whole story.

I have no idea what the hell you are talking about! My voice

rose in an agitated tone.

Lower your voice! We don’t have much time. I’m asking you to trust me, even though you don’t know me or what’s happening. Just believe me. You can come with me or stay here and be a human pincushion for the rest of your life. It’s your choice, but it has to be now! she said.

I looked into her eyes, and something told me to take a chance on her.   Okay, what’s next?

Come with me now and don’t ask many questions. She started to undo the restraints. We have to hurry. She didn’t say why. Something in the tone of her voice made me decide to trust her.

Who are you? I looked at her, my face showing my confusion. My name is Julie. That’s all you need to know for now, other than at this moment I’m your best and only friend in the world. She quickly removed the restraints. I was up and moving in moments. I grabbed my clothes and dressed while she opened the

door of the small room.

All clear, let’s go—and hurry!

That’s all I needed to hear. I followed her down the hall and

through a set of wide double doors.

As we moved along the dimly lit hallway, the soles of our shoes made noises, making me wonder if others could hear our steps. I had no clue where we were going or if I was doing the right thing, but at least I wasn’t in that bed with thick straps on my arms and legs. I didn’t care what direction we took. Right or wrong, it didn’t matter. I just knew that this was better than where I’d just been.

Julie stopped and half-crouched in the hall. She put her hand

in the air.

Quiet. Someone is coming.Turning to me, she put her finger

to her lips.

The sound of footsteps became louder as someone came down

the hall. I could see no hiding place, nowhere to run.

Quick! Get on the ground, like you’ve collapsed. And don’t move. Her words left me no choice. I fell on the cold, stone floor and closed my eyes.

Hey, you! Get over here now! she yelled at the person moving

down the hall.

What’s going on? Who are you, and who’s he? the

guard demanded.

He’s the one they brought in a few days ago. I came back in from starting up the helicopter for its warm-up. I just found him here, out of his room and down on the floor. Help me get him back to his room and in the restraints before he’s missed, Julie said in an authoritative voice.

Yes, of course, Doctor. I didn’t recognize you. Let me pick him up. The guard started to bend over so he could pull me up by my shoulders.

The guard never felt the hypodermic needle as it hit him in the base of the skull. He went down like a ton of bricks, out for hours, she promised. Julie helped me up off the cold floor, and we hurried down the corridor.

The door at the end of the hall loomed ahead when the loud scream of an alarm shot throughout the Facility. This was a bad sign. Our safe escape just became a bit more complicated.

Hurry! We have to make the outside before they lock down the doors! Julie yelled over the piercing noise. She started to run toward the door. I followed the best I could, still feeling a bit light-headed from all the drugs and sleep. My legs moved like they were in Jell-O.

We burst through the door into the blinding sunlight, and for a moment I could only squint. When my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw we were running toward what looked like a helipad. A real-looking helicopter, its blades slowly turning, sat on the concrete. The cold hit me in the face, instantly clearing a few cobwebs from my brain. I paused for a moment to take in the scene around me. Tall mountains and snow made me realize that this wasn’t Oklahoma. It all seemed so surreal. I wanted to stop and look at what seemed like a postcard, but Julie grabbed my sleeve and pulled me toward the pad.

Get in. Now!

As my feet touched the steps of the helicopter, the sound of gunfire was unmistakable. I’ve hunted deer in Enid all my life so the sound of high-powered gunfire wasn’t new to me, but I’d never experienced the sound of bullets whizzing above my head.

They’re shooting at us! I screamed at Julie.

Come on! They won’t risk hitting you. Move! she replied.

The blades of the helicopter slowly turned at idle. Julie told me to grab a seatbelt and hang on as she slid into the pilot’s seat. In a moment, she had the JetRanger VI at full power and screaming toward the heavens.  We skimmed over the trees and hugged the ground. The landscape fell away. There was no one in pursuit, at least no one that I could see.

We stayed low over the trees heading toward a large lake. What’s that up ahead? I shouted over the high-pitched whine of the helicopter.

Lake Geneva. We’re headed to the Swiss side on the south. We’ll be out of this in a few moments, she replied, not looking up from the ground, which was now only a few feet below the skids. Don’t worry, all will be explained in a few hours. Trust me.

Whatever I knew before was behind me, whatever’s in front of me was unknown, but somehow I trusted this woman. Why, I don’t know, but wherever we were going was better than where I’d just been, so like they say, Dance with the one who brung you—at least for now.

But all plans have a variable. A stream of tracers shot past the windshield, close enough to make Julie jerk the chopper violently to the right.

Hold on, it’s going to get a little rough, she yelled over the roar of the JetRanger’s turbine engine. She pointed the chopper almost straight down following the slope of the mountain toward the valley, leveling off with only a few feet to spare. I caught a glimpse of the small, black bumblebee-looking chopper in pursuit. To me it looked faster and much more maneuverable, at least to my untrained eye. Hell, I’d never been in a helicopter, and just trying not to lose what, if anything, I had in my stomach kept me busy.

Julie kept the other chopper from getting what I thought would be the kill shot, but after the initial blast across the bow, the gunfire ceased.

Why’d they stop firing at us? I shouted while trying to hang

on to the strap above the seat.

They won’t risk hitting you. They’re just trying to make us shut down.  We’ll be okay once we’re over the lake. Too many people can see them, and they can’t risk that either.

Once we were over the lake, the other chopper seemed to slow down to hover, as if they were waiting for orders. Then without reason, they turned back to France.

Looks like they’re gone. I watched the chopper fly back

toward the mountains.

Unfortunately, they’ll be back. But for now you are safe.

Twenty minutes later, the JetRanger landed in the courtyard of what can only be described as a castle, or what used to be one. I’ve never seen one up close, but it sure looked like what I thought one would. The helipad took up most of the main courtyard, so Julie didn’t have any problem setting the helicopter down as light as a feather. We stepped out onto a snow-covered, gravel courtyard and were greeted by a nurse in a white lab coat. We followed her into the castle and down a hallway.

4

The nurse led me down a hallway and into a small, sparse, but clean room. A single bed, small dresser, table, and lamp were all the room had to offer. The appearance reminded me of a modern- day version of a monastery where the occupant looked forward to a long day of transcribing, bland food, and silence. She led me to a bathroom, gave me a towel, and directed me to the shower. Clean clothes were laid out on the bed. It felt good to have hot water beating down on my shoulders and head. I couldn’t recall my last shower or one that felt so good. I returned to the room and fell into the small, single bed. Sleep came over me like a dark cloak. Soon my mind drifted far away, and the events of the past few days were just a bad dream.

Later I stepped out of the room, refreshed after yet another

shower. The attendant told me to go downstairs and through the large double doors where I would find Julie, Dr. Burroughs as I now know. She sat at a large table adorned with three place settings complete with wine goblets and antique plates that looked as old as the surroundings.

Good afternoon! I almost sent out the Saint Bernard for you, she said as she set her wineglass down on the table.

How long did I sleep? I seem to recall that we got here in the evening. I said, pulling out one of the ornate chairs that surrounded the table.

That would’ve been yesterday. You’ve been dead to the world for almost twenty hours, but you needed the sleep, and what’s next could wait.

I hope that table will hold some food soon, I’m starving! Yes, we can eat now and talk. Let me go inform the director that you’re awake. She got up to leave as a short and very French- looking man came in from what looked like the kitchen door.

The waiter walked up to the table. Bonjour, voulez-vous parlez Francaise? he asked. (Hello, do you speak French?) The expression on my face answered his question. "Ah, non, may I offer you a wine?" he said in a thick French accent.

No, thanks, maybe later. Just some water please.

Very well, monsieur. I will leave you a glass of wine in case you change your mind, non. he said as he poured a glass of water from a large, crystal pitcher. He sat down a goblet with red wine, turned, and left the room.

Julie returned to the room with a short balding man in a lab coat and a notepad. This is Dr. David Barnard. She turned. Dr. Barnard, Sam Brock.

"It