The Perfect Warrior

By L Ray Vinson

Dr. Steven Vining's research into harnessing the chemicals created by animal brains to protect themselves won large acceptance in the academic world. Such compounds, for example, allow the Arctic fox to turn white in the winter and brown during the summer months.

 

His father was killed in th

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Perfect Warrior
• Release date: Jan 15, 2024
• ISBN: 9798869131805

Book preview

The Perfect Warrior

L. Ray Vinson

Prologue

"Mr. President!"

United States President Robert McDill looked up quickly from his Oval Office desk. Who could that possibly be? No one else was in the room.

He glanced around.  The voice, strong and clear, was one he’d never heard before. Where was it coming from?  He’d been alone for the past thirty minutes.  He shook his head as if to shake away the sound, shrugged, and returned to the document he’d been reading, tapping his fingers as he thought over its contents.

He looked up again at the clock on the wall. It was slightly past two, and the sun shined brightly through the oval office windows. He could certainly see someone if there was anyone to be seen, but he was definitely alone.  Just him, the furniture, and his shadow made by the corner lamp.

No one else was there!

He stood and walked to the hall door and, in spite of the sun’s brightness, switched on the overhead lights. He again scanned the room. He was sure the sound didn’t come from outside. And it was real, not a recording or a radio program.  It definitely came from someone in the room.

But still…

He walked back to his desk, sat, and stared unseeing at the document he’d been reading.

Mr. President!

President McDill jumped up as his gaze darted about his office.  No, there was no one! No one’s shadows but his, now quivering on the floor, reacting to his every move. He lifted the papers from his desk and peered under them, wondering what he’d expected to see besides the desktop. His head moved up and down as he examined every wall, every corner, every piece of furniture, every shadow.

Nothing.

This cannot be real!

He shook his head.  His office was swept for electronic devices several times daily, the last time no more than an hour ago. No one but him had been there since the last sweep. No, it couldn’t be an electronic bug. It was something else, something he’d never heard of. But nothing was out of place; all was as it should be. His eyelids began a nervous twitch.

He turned completely around, searching the room with his eyes. The only noise was his feet shuffling and his now-rapid heartbeat. He was awake, right? He stared at his feet and tapped his right toe to hear the sound it made. No, he was not dreaming. Dreams did not have movement, feelings, and sound.

Sweat beaded on his forehead. The office was empty! He was alone, yet the voice wasn’t just something in his head. No, what he heard was real. Someone else was in this room. He felt the essence of another person! That person was directly in front of him, he was sure. He reached out to see if the voice could be touched but felt nothing but air.

The President gripped the edge of his desktop with fear. He’d received many death threats, even before taking office. This person could mean death to him.

Who’s there? He called loudly, his voice erratic and fractured, as he heard his own voice echo in his ears.

A friend, the voice answered.

The sound came from in front of his desk, but the shadows told him no one was there. All he saw were the items on his desk and his own body, their shadows stretching to the couch undistorted. If someone were there, the shadows would tell him.

His eyes widened with a frightened look in them, his entire body stiffened. He slowly reached under his desktop, found the emergency signal button, and pressed it hard. He was determined not to let go until someone came in to defend him.

After what seemed like an eternity, but he knew was only seconds, five Secret Service agents burst into the office through two doors, their weapons drawn and their fingers on triggers ready to fire. Two fell to the floor and rolled, their guns moving, searching for a target.

The President waved his arms in a large circle. Someone is in this room!

The agents looked at each other, then stared blankly around. Concern that the President may be hallucinating was written on their faces.

The former Dr. Steve Vining slipped out the door, left open by the agents. He would not get to discuss with the President what he must tell him.

He would try again.

Chapter One

Five weeks earlier

Dr. Steven Vining sat in his office chair, hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling and thinking over the notes he’d made.  It was 3 a.m., and the parking lot lights seeped in to eliminate the total darkness he wanted. He recalled studying that ceiling not long ago and counting the tiles.  There were four hundred seventy-three if he added the half tiles in. 

He’d worked without stopping for the past forty-seven hours, starting promptly at eight o’clock on Thursday morning when he sent his research lab employees home. Actually, it had started three hours before that, when he awoke and lay there processing the possibilities. He ate a breakfast of cornflakes and coffee while he decided what had to be done and in what sequence, he made the thirty-minute drive to the lab through heavy traffic in a trance as he wrote his thoughts on a notepad balanced on the steering wheel. He knew that was dangerous, but he had to find a solution, and fast.  Horns blew when he slowed and held up cars behind, and he hit the accelerator and then resumed his thoughts. He could not use a recorder because someone would have to transcribe the information.  Information which could not be known by anyone but himself.

When the staff arrived and settled in he’d gathered them in the conference room.  Starting right now, you have two days off, he said. It’s a free vacation.

He smiled and joked, and even offered salary advances to those wanting extra money to get away for a long weekend. I have to have the place to myself, he said. A problem has come up, and I need isolation and quiet to solve it.

They left giggling and happy, but some volunteered to help should he change his mind. The secretary gave him a list of employee homes and cell numbers as she got her pocketbook and headed to the door. Now don’t do a bunch of stuff we can do, she said. We’re more than willing to help! He promised to let them know if anything changed, and when they left, he got busy with the project he was so concerned about.

Since an answer was needed now, and not years in the future, he’d designed the testing criteria so that he could run many tests simultaneously. He tried the heat test first, but nothing changed even when he applied direct fire. He finally realized he could not reverse the process, that only time would bring the item back to its original state. But he had to somehow reduce the forty-eight hours it now took to mini seconds. He found no solution after forty-seven hours of continuous effort. Not even a hint of one.

He had just wasted his time.

He shook his head and glanced idly around the office.  It had been his place to work, his sanctuary, and nothing there was unknown to him. He hoped the near darkness would bring an answer to his problem. No one could be trusted. If there was one, the solution had to be his and his alone.

He saw his desk and couch clearly from the parking lot lights reflecting on them and was anxious for the timer to turn them off. He needed total darkness to concentrate, to bring an answer.

Chicago’s weather was unseasonably warm. He opened a window, hoping the fresh air might somehow blow in a solution, perhaps a thought contained in some leaf or dust speck. He heard traffic on the interstate just four blocks away and thought of closing the windows to block it but decided the fresh air was better for his needs.

He felt very alone. He wanted to curl into a ball, arms around his knees, and make the terrible things inside his head disappear. If death had a face, it would look like him at this moment. A few moments before, he saw in his office mirror that he was pale, his eyes had large black circles under them, and his mouth was drawn in a contorted curl that said he had no reason left to live. After much thought, he knew the world would be a better place if he’d not been born. His face was twisted in fear. What have I created? he said, softly to himself. His voice did not sound like anything he had ever heard, and he wondered if it was really him speaking. It was faint, almost childlike, a child who was terribly afraid.

His thoughts drifted back to the morning of September 11, 2001, the day he lost his father and many friends. He shuddered, remembering the horrible news. His thoughts rambled. Terrorist, stupid fanatics, they want to destroy our essence, I can’t let them have this. I can’t!  Tears formed as the danger of his discovery reached the deep recesses of his memory. He remembered having first smiled at the thought of getting even with the bastards when the discovery was first made. No! We were too damned civilized. We would not kill and maim just to create fear, but they would. They would celebrate with each person who hid from the horror they created.

He slammed his fist down on his desk with such force that he drew back in pain. The sound echoed inside the office. They cannot have this. They cannot! he yelled, with a clear and forceful voice. He walked to a mirror and stared again at his image and was instantly shaken by what stared back. In the low light he looked like something from a scary movie. He raised his right hand and swore an oath loud enough for anyone nearby to hear.  I swear I will not let this fall into the hands of people who will hurt this country. I will not let that happen, no way in hell! He now had a new determination and knew there was still much fight left in him.

With his findings, even a small group of fanatics would have the power to destroy America’s way of life. They would make its citizens afraid to even walk outside their homes. He must hide it from them.

As a scientist he knew others would someday make the same discovery, and he had to prepare the world for that. He had to. But how? How could he even hint at having made such a breakthrough? Who could he tell?

He felt his face redden with anger. Everyone he knew or loved was in danger. Once his secret became known, power seekers would stop at nothing. They’d do horrible things to anyone in their way to learn the secret and be able to duplicate the process. No one with knowledge of him would be safe.

Tears flowed from his eyes. He choked as he thought of how those power seekers would treat his friends, his mother and others close to him, to force him to tell this secret. He saw their fingers, arms, and legs cut off, one by one, and their eyes burned with hot coals. They would do these horrible things to all those he cared about until he talked. Nothing would be off limits until they learned how to duplicate this secret. They would not harm him, at least not at first. They would be very careful. They needed him alive and able to give them what they wanted. But everyone he knew would be a target. Their knowing him, Doctor Steven Vining, was to risk their life.

This discovery must somehow be controlled by a trusted group, someone in authority.  But who could he trusted not to profit from the secret, and thus put others at risk? The ability he’d discovered would be worth billions to people whose burning desire was to obtain power, to force others to do whatever they wanted. The potential damage was immeasurable.

He needed rest and sleep to make a decision, to know how to solve this problem he’d created. The fact that HE had created it echoed in his head.

God, why did he not just leave it alone? Why did he have to keep testing? 

He lowered his head, prayed to a god who could make this just go away. He cried softly, shaking his head slowly, trying to make the problem just a dream and not a reality. Maybe it was just a delusion from lack of sleep. It would be so wonderful if it was just a dream. No, not a dream, but a horrible nightmare.

Steve sat and then laid on the office couch, intending to do so for only a moment, just until his head cleared. He went instantly to sleep. He dreamed of a world that did not train children to kill others, did not hate others because they were different. A smile came to his face as the dream seemed real. He jerked himself awake and came back to the reality of what he must do.

What I must do…what I must do…, what I must do… Those words echoed in his brain, as the decision that he must die came into focus.

Chapter Two

Eight years earlier

Steve Vining had packed and labeled each box carefully all day and stacked them haphazardly against the wall. He had way too much stuff for the small apartment he was moving into. He sat on his bed, trying to decide what to leave or just throw away, and looked over the many martial arts trophies he’d won. He picked up the largest, a silver trophy for winning the North American event. Thousands of men had competed, but he had won easily. He was the best of 1999, a year full of accomplishments. Maybe he could make room for it. It would look impressive in his new office, an eight-by-eight cubbyhole which barely had room for a desk.

He saw his reflection as he stared into the trophy, and grinned. "Doctor Steve Vining!" he said out loud. Yesterday, in a ceremony attended by his parents, his longtime girlfriend, two uncles, and an aunt, he’d received his doctorate from MIT.  He wished his grandparents were still alive to see him. They would have been very proud. A doctorate in chemistry – a research chemist to be exact, although that was not printed on his diploma. The road to earning this recognition had been long.  Damn he thought, he’d done good. And today he was moving to a new town and a new job as an assistant professor of chemistry.

He looked again at himself in the trophy’s reflection, and his thoughts turned to Anne, a girl with whom he’d had a long relationship. She believed he would tell her ‘bye’ and then come back for her. Well, he would tell her ‘bye,’ but it would be ‘goodbye.’ There was no future for them. He didn’t know how to tell her, and hoped distance would solve that problem. She hinted often at taking her with him, and so far, he’d just been silent. He didn’t want to hurt her; he just didn’t want to spend the rest of his life with her.

Who else at twenty-five, could brag they had accomplished so much? A PhD graduate of MIT, a third-degree black belt who was the best in the nation—he would also be the best damned assistant professor Taylor University had ever seen.  He rose from the bed and mentally inventoried the boxes that would be picked up soon and shipped to his new home and admired himself in the mirror mounted on the back of his door. He raised his right arm and flexed his muscles, and decided he’d be a good model for a "perfect’ ivy league advertising poster. Thanks to his continuing martial arts training, at six feet two inches, two hundred twenty pounds, he was solid muscle. Why, with his brown eyes and mid length chestnut hair, Taylor University  students would  be glad they had  such a great professor! He grinned. Pure bullshit. You have to prove you’re a great teacher. Nobody will give a shit about your trophies!" But he knew he’d be a great teacher and researcher. He’d make discoveries and leave his mark on this world. His confidence was not of the bragging type, but the type that went with hard work and dedication.

He’d taken martial arts instruction since he was a child and knew the thought structure he learned there would serve him well in his chosen field.  Focus and dedication were the earmarks of both a successful advanced martial arts warrior and a successful researcher. Initial failure meant you needed only to work harder. It took extraordinary effort to become successful in competition and discovery.

He was born and raised in New York, in the real part of New York, the city where everything one wanted was available. He was the only child of an insurance executive father and a New York University English Professor mother. Both parents pushed him hard to excel at whatever he did, no half-assed anything was the standing instruction. They made him stay at home for his undergraduate degree in chemistry at Columbia University and he was glad they did, because it helped him stay focused on what he really wanted out of life; a PhD at a major university and then a professorship at a university where he could do research.

His PhD thesis, the study of chemicals created by animals’ brains to defend themselves, was one of a kind. It was considered brilliant by both professors and students and was a sign of one who would achieve greatness. He had a unique understanding of how natural elements interacted with nature, and nature, he reasoned, could solve any problem that threatened an animal’s survival. He often shook his head in amazement as he viewed the chemicals a snake’s brain created to make the poisonous venom that would protect it. Even earwax, common in many animals including man, was an unbelievable substance. It allowed an eardrum to vibrate, yet protect it from dust and other substances. Even more amazing is its smell, which keeps insects from entering and, if they do enter, kills them.

Steve often sat for hours expanding his list of natural brain-created substances, and hoped someday to duplicate the process that created them. If he could do so, diseases could be a thing of the past. Many of the great disease-prevention breakthroughs used the brain to develop a defense. Smallpox was controlled by giving the affected body a tiny dose of it, and letting the brain decide to not let any more of it in. The brain built a defense by creating a chemical that protects the body. Mother Nature had incredible and fantastic abilities that needed to be understood and harnessed.

For Steve, the college years were not difficult. His studies were easy, leaving him plenty of time for an active social life.  He had a long relationship with Anne, a beautiful girl with whom he shared many intimate nights and moments. Often they visited nightclubs along Columbus Avenue with friends. Laughter created a chemical, he believed, that made the body feel good. One day he might just figure out what that chemical was, and market it.

The self-control his many years of martial arts training taught him helped him concentrate, and he moved quickly through the required courses. He planned each course far in advance, negating the time often lost because necessary prerequisites had not been taken, and living within a recognized structure was now in his genes. He had dreamed of getting a PhD at MIT since he was small child, and his parents were very proud when he was accepted as a candidate. They gave a huge party to celebrate his graduation and doctorate, and they glowed as he was introduced as, Doctor Steve Vining! His English professor mother, with her arms around Anne, noted he was the second in a protracted line of Doctor Vining’s.

He liked the ladies. In fact, he loved them. But he knew he wouldn’t be ready to settle into marriage and family for many years. Responsibility for a wife and family would be too much of a hindrance and take too much of his time. Research was his love, and making great discoveries was his future. Anne, he knew, had other thoughts.

Steve was hired as an assistant professor at Taylor University, a small Midwestern college, before his actual graduation.  He wanted to both teach and do research, and this job let him do both. The job was challenging, in part due to peers who didn’t accept a twenty-five-year-old as mature enough to teach at the college level. Proving them wrong took a lot of extra effort. He spent countless hours preparing his lessons, and his students walked away with knowledge, not just knowing they had passed the tests. He quickly became popular with the students. A waiting list developed for his once-a-year advanced class after his second semester, and he soon taught it every semester. He was confident and proud, and his students excelled. His research centered on agricultural products, and it was exciting to know his research could affect the entire world. His students left his classes with their chests poked out because they knew they would someday make a difference in the world. He gave up martial arts competition when he accepted the job at Taylor in order to devote all his energy to teaching and research. In his first year at Taylor, he had identified chemicals created by plants to tell them when to produce and when to go dormant.  Nature was so damned amazing.

Steve was in class the morning of the 911 attacks. He had spoken to his father earlier that morning and knew he was at work in the building. He was disappointed he could not go home for the Labor Day holiday the weekend before, and wanted his Father to know he needed the time to prepare for his classes. When the news of the attack came, he excused his students and sat in front of the television, calling his mother every thirty minutes to see if any good news had come.  He watched the first tower burn, then the plane hit the second tower and both towers collapsed. He cried, his knees were weak, and he continued to stare at the television. He knew there was little hope his Father got out alive, and by noon