1:10 P.M., Central Standard Time
Sunday, July 12th, 2009
near Beauval, Saskatchewan, Canada
As the Jeep Cherokee bumped along the dirt path, nobody spoke for the first couple minutes. But before they reached the end of the grid of cabins, Chuck’s curiosity got the best of him.
“Uh, if you’re allowed to tell me, where are we at?”
The two Canadian airmen looked at each other. Then, the one riding shotgun turned to Chuck. “Well, you’re not going to escape, and you have no way of communicating with the outside world, so there’s no harm in it, I suppose. You’re at Lac la Plonge Auxiliary Air Field. We’re an adjunct to Fifteen Wing at Canadian Forces Base Moose Jaw.”
The words Moose Jaw triggered a brief flash from the Intersect, but it was quick enough that Chuck’s momentary silence escaped notice. “So we’re up toward northern Saskatchewan, then,” he said.
The airman nodded. “Yeah, we’re right on the edge of the Canadian Shield,” he replied.
Chuck shook his head wryly. “I have no idea what that is, Airman…”
“Hernandez,” the airman replied. “And it’s actually Corporal.”
“Sorry about that,” Chuck replied. “I’m not familiar with US military insignia, let alone Canadian ones. Now, do you have any idea why we’ve been kidnapped by the Canadian Air Force?”
Corporal Hernandez looked uneasy. “Um… I’m afraid we can’t discuss that with you, sir. But, you should know, you’re our guest here. We’ll do everything we possibly can to make you comfortable.”
“Would that happen to include a cell phone and a computer with Internet access?”
Hernandez shook his head, a small smile on his face. “Sorry, sir, you should already know that that’s not possible. However, if you’re curious, your laptops are both in the cabin. They’re in the drawer of the coffee table in the living room. They have, of course, both had their wireless Internet cards removed, in addition to any other devices that could possibly be used for communication.”
Chuck sighed. “And thank you for voiding the warranty on my computer.”
Hernandez looked like he was going to say something more, but at that moment, the Jeep pulled up in front of one of the buildings in the complex. “We’re here.”
He and the other airman jumped out and opened the back doors. Chuck and Veronica both disembarked from the Jeep, and followed Hernandez into the building.
They were led down a hallway that smelled distinctly like a medical clinic. “Are we in the base hospital?” Chuck asked.
Hernandez laughed. “Hardly a hospital,” he replied. “There’s only ninety-five people total on the base, including both civilians and military personnel. It’s really closer to being an urgent care clinic than anything else. Real medical problems we take down to Moose Jaw.”
Ninety-five people, Chuck thought, filing the information away.
Hernandez opened a door, admitting Chuck and Veronica to a rather nicely appointed office. “Doctor Ducard will be right with you,” Corporal Hernandez told them. “If you need anything, Airman Reynard and I are right outside.”
He shut the door, leaving them alone in the doctor’s office. Chuck quickly looked around – no phone. What a surprise.
“We’re not getting out of here,” Veronica told him. “Just sit down and wait for this Doctor Ducard, whoever he is.”
The two sat down in the plush chairs facing Ducard’s desk. A couple minutes later, the door opened and he entered the office. “My apologies for my tardiness,” he said hurriedly upon entering the room. His voice held just a trace of a Quebecois accent. “Martin Ducard. It’s a real pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bartowski, Agent Mars.”
Chuck gave him a look of displeasure and said, “You’ll forgive me if I don’t stand and shake your hand, Doctor Ducard. You see, I’m not generally accustomed to being taken somewhere against my will. I’m especially not pleased with the fact that I don’t know what the status of my friends who were with me in Vancouver is.”
Ducard raised an eyebrow and sat behind his desk. “I can assure you that Major Casey and Agent Walker are perfectly fine, Mr. Bartowski.”
Chuck closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he said quietly.
“Of course,” Ducard replied. “Now, I imagine you’re both wondering why you’re here.”
“Yeah,” Veronica snarked. “Just a bit.”
“Well,” Ducard continued, “you’re both on a list of highly desirable individuals who we have been keeping track of for the last two years – Ms. Mars, you for your keen intellect and your nearly perfect genetic code; Mr. Bartowski, you, of course, for your prized ability as the Intersect.”
“’We’ being Fulcrum?” Chuck asked, a trace of sarcasm in his voice.
Ducard was clearly not expecting that question. “Indeed,” he finally said. “You see, the Prime Minister was the second in command of Fulcrum, and when the commander of Fulcrum disappeared ten days ago, he took control and decided to put the Humanity Project into motion.”
“The commander of Fulcrum disappeared ten days ago?” Chuck asked, somewhat curious.
“I believe you knew her as General Louisa Beckman,” Doctor Ducard replied.
Chuck and Veronica both shot out of their chairs. “SON OF A BITCH!” Veronica yelled, while Chuck said, “BECKMAN?!”
Ducard rose slowly, indicating with his hands that they should sit down. “Please, sit,” he said calmly. “We are here not to discuss General Beckman, but rather your role in the Humanity Project.”
“Okay,” Chuck said, returning to his seat. “I’ll bite. What’s the Humanity Project?”
Ducard smiled. “The Humanity Project was actually my brainchild,” he replied. “We made a target list of fifty individuals across Canada, the United States, and Mexico who we believed to be of nearly perfect genetic stock. We intend to use these fifty individuals to breed a new race of humans. Not to replace mankind, of course, but to make humans better.”
Chuck’s jaw dropped. “Holy shit,” he whispered. “Who the hell was your hero as a kid? Josef Mengele?”
Ducard cocked an eyebrow. “Among others,” he said. “I am a scientist, Mr. Bartowski. I think in terms of science.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Veronica interrupted. “Setting aside the fact that you’re one sick and damaged motherfucker, why in heaven’s name would you take me, being practically a midget, and not somebody like, say, Sarah Walker? I mean, she’s Amazon Warrior Woman, for God’s sake!”
Ducard nodded. “A valid question,” he said, ignoring Veronica’s insult. “We did consider Agent Walker. She is, as you indicated, a beautiful specimen of human being. However, here’s the difference between her and you. You, as you said, are short. That is controlled by a gene that can be switched on in vitro.”
“In vitro?” Veronica asked. “As in, in the womb?”
“Of course,” Ducard replied, looking completely serious. “As I said, we’re looking to breed a new race. Now, as far as Agent Walker goes, she seems to be perfect, but she does have one genetic defect.”
Chuck felt like the blood drained from his head. “What? What kind of genetic defect?”
“Oh, don’t worry, Mr. Bartowski, it’s not that serious. There is a variance in the seventeenth chromosome of her genetic makeup. It’s a tau protein called the H1 haplotype. This has been linked to individuals with a terminal disease known as Progressive Supranuclear Palsy. Now, the disease is extremely rare – only 1 in 17,000 people is diagnosed with it, and victims usually don’t experience onset until their mid-sixties. However, even the slightest risk of onset was enough to eliminate her from the program.”
Chuck shook his head. “I’m sure she’d be crushed to hear she escaped from your version of Auschwitz-Birkenau,” he spat.
Ducard was silent for a moment. “May I assume that you don’t approve of this project, Mr. Bartowski?” he finally asked.
“You may assume that,” Chuck replied. “This is sick. Humans are supposed to evolve and adapt, not be engineered.”
Ducard spread his hands. “This is evolution, Mr. Bartowski. This is the advancement of the human race. And to further that cause, you will be mating with Ms. Mars. We feel that –“
“THE HELL!” Veronica shouted, springing up from her chair.
“Ms. Mars, computer models have projected that your genetic stock combined with Mr. Bartowski’s will produce an individual who is tall, attractive, has excellent musculature, a high metabolic rate, low risk of chronic disease, and most importantly, the ability to retain subliminal education,” Ducard said patiently. “It’s a logical fit.”
Chuck looked at Ducard in disbelief. “You know what,” he finally said, “take my sperm, take Veronica’s eggs – whatever. But there’s not gonna be any ‘mating’.”
“Were it only that easy,” Ducard replied. “No, the copulation and conception must be performed naturally. The pregnancy must be carried naturally. Certain hormones are released during these acts that allow the fetus to develop in a more healthy manner.”
“I don’t think you get it,” Chuck replied with a harsh laugh. “I’m telling you, I’m refusing to be part of your monstrosity.”
“Do you now,” Ducard said, his voice low and dangerous. “Very well, Mr. Bartowski. Should you choose to continue your refusal, then I will dissect Ms. Mars alive, while you watch.”
A fist of horror and dread punched Chuck in the stomach. His jaw dropped open and the color drained from his face. “You – what?!”
Veronica had frozen in her chair in fear, but now, as she heard Chuck speak, she started to cry. “You can’t do this, you sick fucker!” Chuck shouted.
“Oh, but I can, and I WILL,” Ducard replied, a trace of anger finally appearing in his voice as he rose to his feet. “Now, Mr. Bartowski, you have a choice. You can either participate in this program and have sex with Ms. Mars, or you can watch as I torture and kill her. What’s it gonna be?”
Chuck rose to his feet as well. “You are an evil bastard, and I hope you rot in hell,” he said softly, leaning in to Ducard. Then he leaned back, pulled his right hand back, and punched Ducard in the face as hard as he could.
Ducard staggered backward and collapsed to the floor. When he looked up, his nose was bleeding, but there was a smile on his face. “Can I take that as a yes, Mr. Bartowski?”
“Just to be clear, I’m not doing it for the benefit of your ungodly project,” Chuck snarled. “I’m doing it so that you don’t kill her.”
And with that, he took Veronica by the hand, wrenched the door open, and guided her out of the office. Airman Reynard quickly stepped out in front of them, guiding them out of the building. Corporal Hernandez looked into Ducard’s office, shook his head, and walked off after Chuck.
When they got in the Jeep, Hernandez looked back at Chuck and Veronica in the back seat. Veronica was still crying softly, and Chuck’s hands were shaking in anger. “I’m really sorry about all this,” Hernandez said quietly.
Chuck looked up at him, rage in his eyes. “Why the hell are you even part of ‘all this’?” he asked, a quiet fury in his voice.
Hernandez had to look away from Chuck. “I’m just following orders.”
“That didn’t work at Nüremberg, Corporal,” Chuck said bitterly. “I can assure you it’s not gonna work here.”
6:15 P.M., Pacific Daylight Time
Portofino Yacht Club
Redondo Beach, California
The host showed Sarah and Casey to the table they had requested. The two men they had asked to meet them there were already waiting.
Logan Echolls rose from his seat. “Sarah Walker, John Casey, this is Keith Mars, Balboa County Sheriff,” he said, introducing the shorter, balding man seated next to him.
Sheriff Mars rose and shook their hands. “Pleasure to meet you,” he said. “I understand you wanted to meet with me and Supervisor Echolls regarding something?”
Sarah nodded, and sat down slowly. The three men followed suit.
“Mr. Mars,” Sarah began.
“Please, call me Keith,” he interrupted.
“Alright,” she said, forcing a smile. “Keith, yesterday morning, while crossing the border from Vancouver to Seattle, your daughter and my fiancé were kidnapped by a domestic terrorist organization known as Fulcrum.”
Keith Mars’ eyes went wide. “My daughter… Veronica… she’s been kidnapped?”
“I’m afraid so, sir,” Casey said. “We have no idea why. We know where she’s being held, though.”
“So let’s go get her!” Mars said, springing to his feet.
“It’s not that easy, sir,” Sarah replied sadly. “Otherwise, you can believe I would’ve been there the instant we knew.”
Mars looked at his feet. “Of course,” he said quietly.
Then he looked at Sarah a little more closely. “What’s your fiancé’s name?”
Sarah realized she was treading on thin ice here. “Uh, it’s Charles Bartowski.”
Keith Mars’ darkened. “I am very tempted to say he can rot,” he said. “After the crap he has pulled on my daughter –“
“Come on, Sheriff, you used to say the same thing about me,” Logan interrupted. “Now look at us, working together.”
“Okay, listen,” Casey said, finally beginning to lose his patience. “I understand that there’s a lot of emotions here, and a lot at stake. However, here’s the long and short of it: they’re being held at a Canadian military base, and if the United States government goes in there, it’s an act of war.”
He paused to let that sink in for a moment, and then continued. “So what we need is a group of heavily armed private citizens.”
He turned to Keith Mars, with a smile on his face. “Sheriff Mars, how many men are on your force, and what other police contacts do you have?”
No comments:
Post a Comment