Dr. Alvin Grace leaned back in his chair, taking a break from putting the final touches on his masterpiece. He had nicknamed it Slim. Years in the making, his life had been dedicated to designing and building a transformational breakthrough in the world of nanotechnology. No patents would be filed, because it was protected by trade secrets, his trade secrets. Patent filings would give a road map for development to the scientific world and he couldn’t allow that, it was too dangerous.
Alvin Grace was fifty-nine years old, of average height with a head of thick white hair that had a mind of its own. His father, of African American heritage, had been a high school chemistry teacher, and his mother, a Native American, had taught math at the same high school. He had grown up in a world of academia, and he had blossomed beyond imagination. By any measure, Alvin was a genius. If the world’s smartest scientists scored ten on the ten-scale, Dr. Alvin Grace was so far above them, there simply was no scale to measure him by, truly one of a kind. He had been a full professor at MIT until he took his current job to completely devote himself to Slim.
Recently, Alvin had demonstrated Slim for the people he worked for and they had been impressed with it, although he only showed them a wisp of its capability. Slim had potential that only Alvin understood, and he kept it that way on purpose, because he had grown to distrust the intentions of his employer.
Alvin worked for New Horizon R&D, which was dedicated to research for the military. It was solely funded by The Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency, better known by the acronym DARPA. The company employed scientists and engineers, but it was run by former military brass. General Benjamin Larkin, a senior man at the Pentagon, controlled the funding for New Horizon. Larkin was tasked to deliver new technology that would make the United States a safer place. In Larkin’s mind that meant new weapon systems needed to be developed constantly.
It was early in the morning and Alvin had been in his office all night, which was not unusual when he was fixated on something. His office had a sofa with a pullout bed that he used, as needed, whenever he spent the night. Alvin walked out of his office stretching his arms, heading to the kitchen for a nice wake-me-up mug of steaming hot coffee.
Staff members were milling about as they fortified themselves at the beginning of another day at New Horizon. Alvin noticed that his assistant, Blake Weston, was not among them, which was unusual. Blake was usually one of the first to arrive.
He walked out to the receptionist.
“Did Blake call in?”
“No sir,” she answered.
“Hmm,” was all he said, making his way back to his office.
The second complete day without hearing from Blake came to an end, as Alvin put on his warm, wool coat and scarf. He was worried and could tell that others were, too. Just as he reached the front door, two uniformed policemen greeted him.
“We are looking for Dr. Alvin Grace,” one of them said.
“I’m Dr. Grace. How can I help you?” he answered with concern.
“Is there somewhere we can speak in privacy?”
“Certainly.” He showed them into a conference room off the lobby and shut the door.
Once they were seated, the lead officer took off his hat. “I’m sorry to tell you that Dr. Weston was in a fatal car crash–”
“My god …” Alvin’s hands began to tremble and his chin quiver. Tears came quickly.
The officer gave him some tissues as he tried to compose himself. “What happened?” he managed to ask, his voice barely audible and shaking.
“He was found in a ditch off the George Washington Parkway, just outside of Arlington. No other vehicles were involved. It looks like he was intoxicated. His blood alcohol was over the limit.”
Alvin buried his face in his hands with his elbows on the conference room table.
“We contacted the next of kin, his sister, who lives in Indiana. She said that she thought you were not only his boss but also a good friend. I hate to ask you this but we do need to formally identify the body, and we were hoping you might be willing to do that. His sister has given her consent.”
“Give me a minute.”
“Of course, we’ll wait outside. Thank you.”
Alvin steeled himself for the task before him. He took a deep breath and joined the officers to follow them to the morgue and identify Blake’s body.
Silent tears streamed down his face as he looked down at Blake’s lifeless body. He had taken his trusted assistant for granted all these years, so dependent on him. Now, in a flash, he was gone.
After filling out some paperwork, he drove home, numb.
Sitting down at his desk in his study, he decided to bury himself in his work to try to take his mind off his grief. Alvin needed to accept the fact that Blake’s propensity to carouse had finally caught up with him.
He opened the secret compartment in the wall behind his desk, a removable piece of base molding, and pulled out his laptop. The laptop housed his documentation for Slim.
Once he booted up, a message notification appeared.
That’s odd, he thought.
After opening it, he froze as he read the text from Blake.
I’m on the run. Two SUVs showed up at my house, but I managed to get away. They overheard me talk about Slim. I’m so sorry. Look up what happened to Bo Ridley. Be careful. I’ll contact you when I can.
Tears gave way to shock. Eventually, his gifted, disciplined mind took control and raced through the implications. He had done the right thing to remove Slim and leave behind a lot of files and programs that would ultimately mislead the scientific teams that would be ordered to commandeer Slim. None of the scientists would be able to quickly discern that they did not have a working version of Slim. Alvin’s level of knowledge was so far above theirs that they simply had no way to understand any of his work, so they would be analyzing his files for weeks, if not months, before they realized what he had done. He was convinced that no one would be able to carry on with his project after he left, which would now be as soon as he gathered his necessities.
As he went about assembling his things and readied himself to flee, he physically felt very strange. He was distressed over Blake and the whole situation, but this was something different.
Something doesn’t feel right, something else is wrong, he thought to himself.
He decided to run some blood work on himself. The tests were fine on the surface, but when he viewed one slide under his electron microscope, he saw it. A few tests later confirmed it. Somehow they had infected him with neurotoxin XF–18.
My coffee, he thought.
He sat down at his lab table and propped himself up with his elbows, burying his face in his hands. Motionless, he stayed at the table as the acceptance of his impending death swept over him.
Earlier in the day, a secretary had brought him coffee, which he usually got himself. They must have done it then. He knew all about the weaponized neurotoxin, since he had opposed its development.
Blake’s death disappeared in his mind, as he became possessed with the fact that he had ninety days left to live. That gave him ninety days to find a caretaker for Slim, or destroy it.
Alvin had been planning his exit as a contingency plan for a while, so many arrangements were in place. He had new identification–driver’s license, bank account and credit card. There was a vehicle in storage in his new name, and he had twenty thousand dollars in cash that he had managed to withdraw and stash over the last six months. He only had to pack his laptop and some basics; most everything else was taken care of. After looking out windows in the front of his house and seeing nothing suspicious, he slipped out the back door and made his way to the mini-storage facility nearby.
The hoodie covered his face from the security cameras, as he punched in the code that would be recorded as Owen Jeffries entering the facility. He opened the door to unit 108 and drove out in a dated white VW Beetle.
It was about a three-hour drive to the sleepy town of Princess Anne on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. He had rented a small house and barn on a large property that was owned by an elderly couple. They were more than happy to get the timely rent check every month from Owen Jeffries. He pulled up to the house and parked his car. He entered the barn to find the extra-large van just as he had left it. The van had been customized to allow for a workspace, cot, and stacked shelving where Slim was secure.
After entering the special code and following the complex protocol, he put Slim in the startup mode and lay down to get some rest.
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