

The Orlando File

(Book One)

IAN C.P. IRVINE

Published by Ian C. P. Irvine

Copyright 2011 IAN C.P. IRVINE

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_"A medical thriller that is a "Must read". Exciting from the beginning. This could even be happening now! YOU will want to recommend this story to other readers. BRILLIANT!"_ Review (UK)

_"Wow what a thriller, a total page turner! Also all too believable. I could not put this book down and when it was finished it left me thinking for days! Please read and enjoy."_ Review (UK)

" _This book is a thriller from the first paragraph to the last. I was surprised constantly and I would recommend this book to anyone that loves a medical thriller."_ Review (USA)

_"I enjoyed reading this well written and thought provoking book. It is a fast moving thriller that makes you wonder whether you should ever trust medical researchers or institutions. My only problem with the book was tearing myself away once I started reading it! I would highly recommend this book to anyone, especially those who enjoy medical thrillers."_ Review (USA)

_"Right from the beginning, you are drawn into this book and will be unable to put down. The idea of what genetic engineering may be possible, is mind bending. You can actually believe the characters are real. It is breathtaking book to read."_ Review (USA)

_"I commute via train 2.5 hours per day for work. So a good book is much needed as it makes the trip more enjoyable. This book is a wonderfully paced page turner! Honestly, I looked forward to my morning ride and evening trip home cause I was always left wanting to know "what would happen next"! There were plot twists and turns up until the very end.... So would I recommend this book to a friend or colleague...in a word "ABSOLUTELY"!!!_ " Review (USA)

_"Fast paced and well constructed. An original storyline that hand many elements of believability. Every chapter ended in a cliff-hanger. I couldn't put it down."_ Review (UK)

_"Once I started reading I could not put it down. Lots of action and a good plot. Very good book!_ " Review (UK)

_"Exciting thriller with a main character I instantly took to. Usually I skim boring bits in books, but no need for that in this book, it was a genuine page turner!"_ Review (UK)

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright observed above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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April 2013

To my Mum and Dad.

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.Please note: This is the first book in a two part series. The story begins with Book One, carries on and concludes with Book Two.

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If you wish, you have the option to purchase an omnibus version containing both Book One and Book Two: The Orlando File : Book One & Book Two

Other Books by Ian C.P. Irvine

Haunted from Within

21st Century Pirates Inc.

Crown of Thorns: The Race to Clone Jesus Christ

London 2012 : What If?

The Sleeping Truth : A Romantic Medical Thriller

Alexis Meets Wiziwam the Wizard.

Please note: This is the first book in a two part series. The story begins with Book One, carries on and concludes with Book Two.

Chapter 1

Park Place Apartments

Washington D.C.

"So what?"

It was an incredible quote, and a brilliant way to begin the article. True, it wasn't the most conventional opening line for an important piece of investigative journalism, but who said you couldn't start a story that way?

The CEO of a leading national utility company had been caught with his hand in the till, and when confronted by Kerrin on the phone at his home, he had laughed. Actually laughed.

Perhaps he was drunk, or maybe the CEO was just another of those arrogant bastards that thought he could get away with anything.

Whatever.

Kerrin was going to use the quote, and that was that.

He closed his eyes and imagined the headline of the article in bold print, spread across the top of the page.

"Utility Company Chairman Admits Million Dollar Fraud".

Not bad, but perhaps not good enough. He would fix that later.

First he had to finish the rest of the story.

He focused his concentration back on to the page, his fingers poised lightly on the keyboard and the cursor hanging menacingly above the third line...

There was a shrill, screeching noise in the background, and he bit hard on his lip as he reached for the phone. He hated to be disturbed when he was writing. Since giving up being a cop in Miami and starting from scratch as an investigative journalist at the Washington Post, he spent every day chasing deadlines: and if he didn't get this piece finished in the next five hours, he'd miss Friday's long promised full page spread on Page 3. His best position yet.

"Yes?" he bellowed down the phone.

"Kerrin...is that you?"

"Elizabeth! Sorry, yes, it's me. You just caught me at a bad moment..."

"I'm sorry to disturb you Kerrin, but I need your help. Something...something terrible has happened!"

His sister's voice trembled as she spoke the words, and then abruptly she burst into tears.

Kerrin straightened up in his chair, his attention now completely on his sister. "What's the matter? Why are you crying?" In the background Kerrin heard a loudspeaker, announcing the arrival of a flight. "Where are you?"

"I'm at the airport in the Bahamas,... with the kids."

"The Bahamas? What the hell are you all doing there? You're meant to be coming here this weekend...What's going on?"

"I don't know. Martin called me this morning from the office in Orlando, told me not to argue, just to pack as much as I could and catch the first plane to Nassau...He said he'd meet me here this evening. Kerrin, I'm scared..."

"Did he say why?"

"No. There wasn't time to discuss it. We were cut off...but I know it's got something to do with the project he was working on..."

"Which project? He's always working on something that'll 'change the world'."

"Kerrin, don't joke about it. This is serious!...Henry, Tom and Mike are dead! Sam's dead too, and Alex is missing!"

"Dead? What do you mean they're all dead? "

"Exactly that. They're dead!", she shouted back, then started to cry again.

"Elizabeth, take a deep breath. Try to calm down. I'm sure..."

"Kerrin, I'm scared," she continued. "Really scared. According to the police, Tom, Mike, Sam and Henry all committed suicide, or tried to. All in the space of four days of each other."

"That's ridiculous. I was only with Alex and Tom last week when Martin took us out to play golf. They looked a bit stressed, but they definitely weren't suicidal!"

"But now they're dead!... and I think Martin is worried that it might be his turn next. That's why he wants us all out of the country...Kerrin, what do I do? What if he doesn't turn up?"

"Don't worry sis, he will. When's he meant to be arriving?"

"In about two hours. He's flying down in his jet, straight from Orlando."

"Have you spoken to him since?"

"No, nothing...," there was a pause, almost as if his sister was trying to pluck up the courage to say something else. "...But before we were cut off, he insisted that I must get you to come down here as well. He said he needed your help and that it was really important. I know that you don't want to leave Dana alone, but Martin promised that you'd get that big scoop you've always wanted- a front page exclusive. The best story the Washington Post has had for ages! Please come Kerrin...I need you here too..."
Chapter 2

The Caribbean Ocean

Day One

The Lear jet flew silently through the cold, dark night. In bright blue fluorescent numbers the digital thermometer indicated that the outside temperature was -40 degrees. Inside the snug, leather lined cabin, Martin held the joystick tightly in his hands and stared out into the sky ahead.

He was flying high above the thin, scattered clouds, the sea far below him. It was fifty minutes since he had taken off from Miami airport, and with the slight headwind, it would be at least another thirty before he landed.

A voice spoke into his earphones, the control tower in Miami handing him over to the air traffic controllers in the Bahamas. He was out of American airspace now.

Martin felt himself relax, his hands slackening their hold on the joystick, the muscles in his arms and wrists losing some of the tension that had gripped his body for the last two months.

No, it was more than stress. Far more than that.

More like fear. Constant fear.

How long could a person live under such tension before having a heart attack? He thought about the other members of his research team, now dead, and his grip on the joystick tightened again.

His eyes scanned the instrumentation panel, registering that everything was okay. The almost full moon drew his attention, and he glanced upwards admiring its beauty.

After the company takeover, the six most important scientists in his team had refused to make the move from Florida to the new corporate headquarters on the West Coast. Not everyone wanted to live in California anymore. Who needed the congested freeways and overpriced real estate? Not to mention the pollution.

No thanks. Florida was just fine.

Until his friends had begun to die.

Or disappear. Like he was doing just now.

A string of 'unfortunate suicides', as the police had officially described them, caused by severe depression brought on from losing their jobs with their company.

From a team of six, in the space of one week, four had become so unhappy that they had all decided to kill themselves?

Not likely.

Martin had known them all. None of them were quitters, and none of them were so unhappy.

Stressed, yes, but for a different reason.

Martin knew exactly why members of his team were dying. They were being silenced, one by one.

Only Alex Swinton and himself were still around from the team that started the Orlando Project and then refused to move to California.

Then this morning Alex had left a message on his private number at work.

"Martin. You'll be next. Get out while you can..."

Was it a threat or a warning? Either way, for Martin it was enough.

It had taken the rest of the day to finalize and assemble the protection he would need for the future. Thankfully, a few days before, he had successfully managed to download all the information he needed about the Orlando Project... just before his network privileges had been revoked...and now he had enough to enable anyone else to repeat the research and the work they had done.

The trip to the airport had been fine. Although he had been on edge all the way from the office to the plane, half expecting to be mugged, or shot, or stopped by someone en route, it had been surprisingly straightforward to load up his plane, fuel it and take off.

He almost wished that he had not taken the last minute precautions: he had been so scared of something happening to him, that he had bundled up the files on the Orlando Project, and put them in a parcel in the post. That way at least, the information would be protected, and if anything happened to him, he would have something to bargain with.

He looked at his Rolex again.

Twenty-eight minutes to go.

It was beginning to look like he had managed to escape safely. Perhaps it would have been better if he had kept the file with him after all.

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Park Place Apartments

Washington D.C.

After the phone conversation, Kerrin couldn't concentrate. He had never heard his sister so scared before. She never cried. Never. She was the strong one in the family, the one that was always in control and looking after the other siblings, seldom showing emotion, no matter what trouble they'd all got themselves into. Growing up, she was his rock.

Her words reverberated around his mind, "I need you here..."

He hit the 'save' button on the computer screen, and stored the first three paragraphs of the story. The CEO of Small Holdings had just been granted a last minute reprieve. For now.

Opening up his web browser, Kerrin began to search the internet for flights to the Bahamas. The last flight to Nassau that evening had already left, but according to his favourite travel site, there was another one leaving from JFK at nine the next morning. Kerrin selected a window seat and after putting in his credit card details, he printed off the confirmation and his ticket. He picked up what was left of his rum and coke and walked into the TV room.

Dana, his wife, had nodded off again while watching the Letterman show. He kissed her lightly on the cheek, and she stretched and woke up, throwing Kerrin one of her fantastic smiles.

Just then the phone rang again. Dana spun her wheelchair around and rolled over to the phone table.

"Elizabeth? Is that you? ...Yes, Kerrin's right here..."

She held the phone out to Kerrin, covering the mouthpiece as she spoke.

"She's crying her eyes out! Something's wrong..."

He took the phone from her outstretched hand.

It took a while before Kerrin could get his sister to talk calmly. She was babbling almost incoherently.

"...He's dead, Kerrin!...He crashed into the sea!...According to the flight control centre, one minute he was on the radar screen, then the next he wasn't...He just vanished without a trace! Kerrin, they killed him, just like they killed the others! ..."
Chapter 3

Day Six

Sunny Cove

New Providence Island

Bahamas

The sun rose above a picture postcard sea. Gentle waves slowly lapped long sandy beaches, the calm sea, transparent and turquoise near the shore, transforming abruptly to a vivid deep blue as the coral shelf plunged into the depths further off the island.

It was going to be a beautiful day.

Not so for Kerrin. The past few days had been a living hell. He had arrived at Nassau airport and been greeted by an airport official who had escorted him to a private room, where a female police officer had been comforting his sister. She had spent the night in a hotel, and had been asked to return to the airport the next day to help the police and the airport officials with their enquiries.

Although technically Martin's Lear Jet had not yet entered official Bahamian air space when it vanished, they had been tracking the flight on their radar and had been in voice contact with the pilot. Questions were going to be asked, and if there was going to be an air crash investigation, the trail would start at the air traffic control centre in Nassau.

Elizabeth was in a terrible state. Only after quite a bit of persuasion from Kerrin, had she agreed to take a tranquilliser and go back to the hotel for some sleep. A female police officer had looked after the children for the day, neither of whom had yet been told about the death of their father.

After two days it was becoming clear that there was not really going to be any big investigation. The search for the wreckage and Martin's body had been called off after forty-eight hours. Two helicopters and a light aircraft had scanned the area where the plane had disappeared from the radar, and two ships had criss-crossed the surface of the sea where the plane would have come down. After they had found several pieces of floating fuselage, one with a large letter 'K' written on it, part of the plane's identity number, the search for survivors was abandoned.

It seemed that why the plane had crashed was a mystery that no one would ever be able to explain. It struck Kerrin that since it had happened in international airspace, there was a lack of motivation and accountability for the Bahamian officials to spend any more time or money investigating the cause of the crash.

Four days after the plane accident, Kerrin had taken his sister and her children to the airport and seen her off on an airplane back to the States. She would be met at the airport in Arizona, where she would spend a few weeks with their other sister Jane on their country ranch. Peace and quiet and rest. That's what they needed now.

He stood on the balcony of his hotel room overlooking the bay, watching the holidaymakers and tourists scurrying onto the beach to claim their portion of sun for the day.

It was only 9 a.m. but already most of the beach beds were occupied.

He had always wanted to come to the Bahamas, but had never been able to find the time nor money, and then after his wife had been crippled, overseas travel had become very difficult. Now he was finally here, it was under the worst possible circumstances, and he wasn't in the mood to do any relaxing.

The memory of Elizabeth crying uncontrollably in the small airless office at the airport kicked him hard, and he winced at the thought of the pain she must be going through.

Apart from Dana, he loved his sister more than any other person alive. She and Martin had made a brilliant couple. Sure, they had had their problems, but so did everybody. Martin was a workaholic, never really spent enough time at home with the kids or Elizabeth. At first she had hated playing the patient mistress to his work, but after a few years she came to accept it, taking comfort from the fact that Martin was driven by the will to save lives and was working on something that one day could change the world. Or so he always claimed. Truth was that neither Elizabeth nor Kerrin really understood exactly what it was that Martin did. It was just too complicated.

Kerrin and Dana owed a lot to his sister and her husband. After their accident, they had spent several months at Martin's house in Florida. Their nephew and niece had helped to take their minds off themselves, and Elizabeth had been a tower of strength. Without her, Kerrin didn't know how he would have got through it all.

After the accident Kerrin needed to spend more time with Dana, and it was obvious he couldn't carry on being a cop in Miami: it was too dangerous, the hours were too long, and Dana worried too much. Now she depended upon him, he could no longer take risks with his own life. He needed to be there for her. To look after her. It was Martin who suggested the job at the Washington Post, and he had pulled a few strings on Kerrin's behalf to help get him the interview.

It was tough making the move to Washington, but the job at The Washington Post, in theory, should have been quite interesting. "Being an investigative journalist," he was promised, "is an exciting job. With your background, you'll do great!"

Well, so far, it wasn't working out as exciting as he had hoped for. Too much 'desk' and not enough 'action'.

Still, he owed a lot to Martin and Kerrin was grateful. Unfortunately, he had never really got to know Martin well and now he was dead, Kerrin wished he had made more of an effort to talk to the man his sister had chosen to marry.

Martin was an intellectual. Never really got emotional, or showed that he was upset. A straight talker, independent and strong, he didn't exaggerate, and always called it like it was. If Martin had told Elizabeth that he had needed Kerrin's help, and that 'it was important', then Kerrin knew that it had to be something big.

It was the first time Martin had asked Kerrin for anything, and dead or not, Kerrin still owed it to him to find out what had happened.

He had decided to stay on in Nassau another two days, wanting to spend more time with the authorities and hoping to gain some information, or a few leads to go on.

He had already placed a call to his boss on the newspaper in Washington and had managed to persuade him into financing his trip to the Bahamas. He had been working at the Washington Post for just over five years now, and although he wasn't the best writer or journalist on the newspaper, he was pretty high up there in the ranking of upcoming stars. So far he hadn't come across any Watergate exposés or Iran-Contra affairs, but there had been the Albuquerque Housing Scandal, and the Wright Fund Fraud. They had both been his. It was only a few years, Kerrin reckoned, before he got his own column.

"Listen Paul," he told his boss on the phone earlier. "I can't guarantee anything, but I think I'm onto something. A group of top researchers working for a genetics company, officially lose their jobs and then all commit suicide in the space of one week. And then last night, the last surviving member is trying to escape to the Bahamas, when his plane mysteriously disappears."

"What do you mean 'escape'? " Paul replied. Kerrin could hear the tell-tale sounds of his boss pushing back his chair, and putting his feet up on his office desk. He had taken the bait.

"An inside contact told me he was trying to get abroad as soon as possible before he was found dead just like the others. He didn't want to become another suicide. I was meant to meet him here, then the next thing you know, his plane vanishes."

"Could be coincidence?"

"Could be, but unlikely. With your permission I want to sniff around a bit and see where it takes me?"

There had been a moment's pause. 'Sniff around' invariably meant 'expense account' and things had become tight at the newspaper recently. Sales were down.

"Okay, Kerrin. Okay. But you're not one of the big time front page guys yet, so go easy on the cash. No five star hotels. Call me in a few days and let me know what you get. In the meantime, I'll give your other work to Ed Harper. Any problem with that?"

"None. Ed's a good guy." Kerrin replied, trying to hide his feelings towards the new man on the paper. Ed was hungry just like Kerrin was, and if he was completely truthful, Kerrin was jealous of him.

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He closed the balcony window and stepped back into the bedroom, pausing to look at himself in the full-length mirror hanging on the wardrobe door.

The job at The Washington Post didn't really give him the chance for much exercise. In the past three years, he had really begun to put on weight, and now he looked in the mirror he realised just how much it had begun to show.

He was no longer the young man he used to be. He was only thirty eight, but he looked it. He was tall, just short of six-foot, broad-shouldered and still quite muscular. Last time he had checked he was 178 pounds. When he had been on the force, he had an amazing six pack, was well toned, fit, and the girls loved him. Kerrin knew that it was his looks that had first attracted Dana to him the night they met at the Police Ball. Unfortunately, now that he was stuck behind a desk at The Post most of the time, the extra pounds had begun to roll themselves too easily into what his English friends would call a 'beer-belly', and what Elizabeth called his 'one-pack'.

Thankfully, it wasn't too late to save his figure. A bit of exercise and Kerrin would be able to get back the body he used to have.

"I need to go to the gym!" he promised himself. "...Just as soon as I finish this story."

He had been promising himself that for the past five years, but had never got round to it. Once he had even paid the membership fees and joined a local health club. Although he never went once, the mere act of joining made him feel better for a month, and he told all of his friends how much healthier he was going to become...then the excuse wore off, and he just never seemed to mention it again.

Luckily, while many of his friends had long ago lost most of their hair, Kerrin still had a full head of brown locks, which were perfectly coordinated with his dark brown eyes.

All in all, in spite of his 'beer' belly, Kerrin was a good looking man. But his best feature was his fantastic smile. When Kerrin smiled at someone, the other person had no choice but to smile back. It was unfair, but people couldn't help but like him. He made them feel happy. A useful skill which helped whenever he was chasing a story and Kerrin was trying to befriend people and encourage them to divulge information.

Hopefully the smile would work its magic in the next few days.

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That morning he made no progress in coaxing more information from the airport authorities, so he decided to take a drive up the coast to the north part of the island, and to talk to the captains of the boats that had found the plane wreckage. Maybe there would be a clue there. If nothing else, it would be a pleasant drive, and it would give him the chance to plan what he would do when he returned to the States.

Chapter 4

Wharf Tavern

Paradise Island

Bahamas

By the time he hit the road, it was almost eleven o'clock, and already the heat was becoming uncomfortable. How could anyone live without air conditioning? Pulling out of the hotel and heading west, he crossed the bridge that connected New Providence Island to the smaller Paradise Island.

The road to the north side of the tiny Paradise Island ran along the edge of the sea, through many of the resorts where the tourists flocked to from all over the world. Names like 'Paradise Resort', 'Smugglers Haven' and 'Golden Sands Marina' passed by, large pictures of the complexes inside appearing on enormous billboards beside the road. In between the buildings and tall roadside vegetation, once or twice Kerrin got a quick flash of a beach, palm trees swaying gently over snowy white sands, people drinking cocktails and paddling lazily through the inviting turquoise sea.

In spite of the melancholy that he had woken up with, he began to feel slightly better, and by the time he was nearing his destination, he was in a much sunnier mood.

'The Wharf Tavern' was tucked away at the back of the main harbour that serviced the north side of the island. It was here that the police had told him he would be most likely to find either of the two captains from the boats that had found the wreckage of the Lear jet.

'The Sea Dancer' and the 'Highland Glen' were the two ships that had assisted the coast guard in the sea search and, although all the wreckage had been shipped to the main police station in Nassau for closer examination and possible forensics, Kerrin was hoping that chatting to the crew members would throw a little more light on what had happened.

The barmaids were just clearing up from serving lunch when Kerrin walked in the door, finding about twenty people dotted around the interior of the bar.

It took a moment for Kerrin's eyesight to adjust to the dim interior from the bright sunshine outside, and as he stood in the doorway, he could feel the eyes of the locals scanning him up and down, wondering who the new stranger in town was.

It was that sort of bar. Everyone knew each other, and if they didn't know you, you were either trouble, or not worth knowing.

"Hello, what can I get you?" the barman asked, leaning with two heavy hands against the side of the bar, a white towel hanging over his shoulder like some theatrical prop, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a large colourful tattoo proudly displayed on his right forearm. His big, fluffy grey moustache bristled as he spoke.

"One of your very best cold beers please. And if you have any sandwiches, that would be great too?" Kerrin replied, plopping himself down on one of the tall bar stools running along the edge of the bar.

"New in town?" the barman asked, immediately probing for information. Obviously the local oracle, the man who made everybody's business his own.

"Yeah... I was hoping to find the Captains of the Sea Dancer and the Highland Glen?"

"Ah, anything to do with the airplane that went down the other day?" the barman asked, putting down a large frost covered glass full of blonde beer.

"That's the one. Any idea where I can find them?"

"Sure, about a hundred and fifty miles out on the Dardenal Banks, probably drift netting by now. They left early yesterday."

Kerrin had not reckoned with the fact that they might not be there. It had not occurred to him that the fishermen might actually be out fishing.

"Any idea when they will be back?" he asked, the disappointment showing in his voice.

"Probably sometime next week, depending upon the weather...or their luck, but normally they're away for a week. They're both part of the Dawson Fleet. Big boats. Can stay out for up to a month if they need to."

"Just my luck." Kerrin picked up the large beer, wiping some of the condensation off the side of the cold glass, before taking a long drink. "Ahhh...nothing better on a hot day like this."

The barman left to serve another customer, then returned a few minutes later with a large ham sandwich, garnished with salad and a succulent green pickle.

As Kerrin fought with the sandwich, trying to pick it up with his two hands without the contents spilling out all over the counter, the barman looked him up and down, playing with the edge of his moustache, twirling it back and forth between his fingers, before coming to some sort of decision.

"Of course, you could try talking to Old Ben over there. His ship was out there too. He might be able to tell you something." The barman volunteered, pointing to the far corner of the bar, to a man probably in his early seventies, reading the paper and smoking a pipe.

Kerrin finished his sandwich and ordered two more beers, picking them up and taking them over to the table Old Ben occupied in the corner.

"Mind if I join you?" Kerrin asked, offering the beer to the old mariner. He looked up at Kerrin, his rugged face ridden with lines from years of exposure to the elements and all that the sea could throw at him.

"It's a free world. Do as you please."

Kerrin sat down opposite the man, studying him quickly and noticing that the tips of two fingers on his left hand were missing.

"I hear you were out at sea when the plane went down the other day?"

The old man's eyes brightened slightly, and he reached for the beer in front of him.

"Took your time, didn't you?"

"What do you mean?" Kerrin asked, a little surprised.

"I mean, it's been almost a week since I reported it. That's what I mean!" he said, a slight cockney English accent detectable in his voice, immediately reminding Kerrin of his earlier childhood. Kerrin had been born to a Scottish father and American mother, and after spending his first seven years in Scotland, they had moved to London, England for three years, before Kerrin's parents had finally moved back to the US.

"Reported what?" Kerrin asked.

"The explosion. The cop on the phone said they'd send someone out, but it's taken you a whole week to come and ask me questions! Maybe I've forgotten the details by now. I'm an old man, after all," he replied, before puffing on his pipe and turning to look out the window.

Kerrin was confused. What was the man talking about? The police had only mentioned two boats. Neither of which had reported seeing any explosion.

And if Old Ben had seen something, why had they called off the investigation before they had interviewed him?

"I'm sorry. I'm not with the police. To be quite honest, I'm a relative of the man who died in the plane crash. I'm just trying to find out what really happened. The police don't seem to know anything." Kerrin replied.

The old man turned to look at Kerrin again, appraising him afresh.

"Sorry son. That's different then. It's just that nowadays no one is interested in what Old Ben thinks. No sir. People only ever listen to what the big boys from the Dawson fleet have to say. Well, I can tell you, they didn't see anything. I did!"

"Exactly what did you see Ben?...Would you like another beer?"

Kerrin waved at the barman, who promptly brought over another drink for Old Ben.

"Thanks." The old fisherman took another mouthful of the cold beer, and wiped his forehead with a tattered handkerchief. "See, there I was, out at sea on the Sentinel Reef...the fishing's good out there this time of year...a bit far...but worth it...when we heard this plane flying over, we could even see its tail light flashing..."

"...T'was quite a clear night...only scattered cloud. We were bringing in the nets, but we looked up and watched him fly overhead...it broke up the monotony of the job...been doing the same thing for forty years now...forty years..." The old man started to wander off into his thoughts.

"So what did you see?" Kerrin asked, trying to bring him back from wherever he was going.

"Well...I was watching the plane, see, when suddenly it just blew up. Phuff, bang, and it was gone. A big ball of smoke and fire, and fireworks falling through the air down to the sea. Quite a sight it was. Never forget it, I will. Them pieces of metal started to hit the water hard...one even hit the bloody roof of the boat...cut right through a six inch plank of wood, it did!"

"Have you still got it?"

"Sure have. You can see it if you want...along with the other stuff we picked up!"

"What other stuff?"

"Well, when the sun came up the next day there were bits of flotsam floating on the surface. From the plane like. Wreckage. So we picked it up...'case anybody wanted to see it!"

"Why didn't you hand it over to the police?"

"Tried to. Told them we had stuff, like, but they didn't show any interest. Didn't even come to pick it up! Still got it over at the shed..."

"Are you sure they knew you had it?" Kerrin couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Are you mutton jeff?"

"What?"

"Mutton jeff...deaf! Are you deaf? It's like I told you... I made a full report, told them everything I knew over the phone, even told them about the jet that passed back and forth a few minutes afterwards... just in case it was relevant, like."

"What jet?"

"It was very high, probably nothing related, but about five seconds after the explosion there was a loud roar, and a jet passed overhead in the same direction the plane was heading...then about three minutes later it came back much lower in the opposite direction, before disappearing back towards where it came from. Thought it odd that it came back upon itself, like it did. Maybe it saw the explosion too and came back to have a look-see...thought the police might think that as well..."

None of this was in the official report Kerrin had read.

"Can you show me some of the wreckage you found?" Kerrin asked, getting up from his chair.

"What? Now?" the old man asked.

"Seems like a good time to me. You can bring your beer with you."

The old man's shed was on the other side of the harbour, at the end of one of the slipways that took boats up into dry dock for maintenance and overhauling. Inside the shed, two men were working hard on an old trawler called 'The English Rose', painting the roof, and replacing one of the rails on the starboard side. It was a big boat, but with one look, Kerrin could tell its days were probably numbered.

The building stank of rotting fish, although there were no fish to be seen. Along the edge of the shed, there was a collection of old nets, winches, buoys, empty fish crates, lobster baskets, paint cans and other bits and bobs, and in the corner, a small pile of metal, wooden and plastic objects, which Old Ben pointed to and said was the flotsam which his boat had retrieved from the plane wreckage.

Kerrin bent down and began to sift through it, while Old Ben stood behind him and puffed contentedly on his pipe.

Most of the wreckage was either melted, or burnt, the edges of the metal and the attached charred plastic padding now turned black and green where the fierce heat of a fire had caught it in the flames. Kerrin felt slightly peculiar while touching it, the only trace of what was left of his brother-in-law's plane.

He spent the next hour examining each piece and photographing them meticulously, just in case it might help at some point in the future. But unless they were analysed in a lab somewhere, Kerrin knew that they would not be able to tell him anything more.

What more did he need to know anyway? There were eye witnesses to an explosion, and the wreckage showed the clear signs of intense heat and flames. It was obvious now that Martin's plane had blown up. What Kerrin would like to know was whether or not the explosion was deliberate or an accident?

On the other hand, the police were clearly not going to follow up on what Old Ben had to say. According to the old fisherman, they definitely knew about this wreckage but had made no effort to come and collect it, and now that the investigation was closed, there was little chance they would do anything else. Had they deliberately lied and kept the old man's sighting out of the police and official air crash investigation, or was it just typical police incompetence? After all, this wasn't America. What could he expect from the Bahamian police?

While driving back to his hotel that night, Kerrin decided that there was probably little point in chasing the officials in Nassau and asking them why they hadn't interviewed Old Ben. They either knew something they weren't going to tell him, or they were just not interested. His time would be better spent elsewhere.

Instead, his thoughts turned to the jet airplane that had passed overhead a few seconds after the explosion. According to the official records there hadn't been any other 'commercial or civilian' aircraft in the area at the time of the explosion. Which only left the military, and they hadn't said anything about a military jet being in the same airspace. If there had been one, then surely the pilot would have seen Martin's plane on its radar... and its instruments would have registered it disappearing off the radar when it exploded? And if so, why didn't the pilot report it? Anyway, Old Ben had said that the plane looked as if it had come around to take a second look. In other words, it must have seen something!

So what Kerrin wanted to know was, had a military jet been following Martin's plane, and if so, where did it come from?

Chapter 5

Day Seven

Clifton Beach

Cape Town, South Africa

Alex Swinton pulled out the factor 35 suncream and smeared a fresh dollop of the white goo all over his forehead, chest and arms. His sensitive skin didn't tolerate the sun at all, and in spite of years of living in Florida, he had never been able to tan or build up any resistance to the sun's rays. If he didn't watch out he would burn as red as a lobster in less than thirty minutes.

It was hot. Very hot.

He blinked for a second, the sweat streaming off his forehead and over his eyebrows, carrying some of the sun-cream into his eyes.

He wiped them quickly, and rinsed them with some water from his half empty bottle of Evian.

That was better.

He lay back onto the sand, settling his expensive pair of new Ray Bans back onto the bridge of his nose.

This was the life. Sunbathing on one of the most beautiful beaches in the world. It was a far cry from the adrenaline rush of the past few months. He hated to admit that he had thrived on the excitement of the whole thing, particularly as it had resulted in the deaths of several of his colleagues, but Alex was an adrenaline junkie. In some perverted way, he had enjoyed the chase. The thrill was even better now, knowing that he had survived it.

Perhaps what he had done was wrong. Perhaps not. But he had only done what was necessary.

And then he had just disappeared.

No one knew where he had gone.

Here he was just one of thousands of other tourists, inconspicuous in the fact, that like so many others, he was so obviously not from here.

He didn't have any plans, except that for the next few weeks he would lie low. Avoid detection. And in the meantime he would take the time to get some serious windsurfing done. Perhaps at Langebaan, or maybe even along the rugged, lonely coast at Wilderness. The South-Easterlies were really blowing this time of year, and he could get some really good sails if he wanted to.

Being alone out at sea a few k's from the beach, just him versus the wind, would give him the chance to live life at the edge again. Just like he used to do before he got too serious about his work.

Alex's academic career at university had been outstanding. After a year as an undergraduate at the University of Michigan, he had won funding and transferred to a place at MIT. After graduating 'summa cum laude' and head of his year, he had won a fellowship to do a PhD. at Stanford, which had brought him to the attention of David Sonderheim, one of the world's leading geneticists. David was just about to set up a new genetics company based in Florida, which would specialise in the investigation and study of the genetic causes of neuro-degenerative diseases, such as Parkinson's and Alzheimer's. The goal? The holy grail of all the major pharmaceuticals -to find a genetic based cure. A cure which an increasingly ageing population would pay enormous amounts of money for on a regular, extended basis. And the longer they lived, the longer they needed to pay for the treatment.

When Alex had graduated with his PhD. in Genetics and his revolutionary work into the study of ribosomes, he could not turn down the lucrative offer that the new CEO of the Gen8tyx Company had made him. He had packed his wind-surfer and surf boards and driven across America in his beaten-up, red Volkswagen Camper. It had taken him three weeks to make the trip and he had enjoyed every mile of it. As it had turned out, it was the last real freedom he would enjoy for the next six years.

As soon as he had arrived on the campus of the Gen8tyx Company he dived into a brand new project, one so inspired and so radical, that it had the potential to change the world. He had forgotten about the sun, the sea, and the wind and swapped it all for years of long nights in a lab, with a white coat and an electron microscope.

But the results had been extraordinary. As he himself had proved when he had been the first person to test the new treatment they had created.

Then it had all started to go wrong.

After five-and-a-half years of hard work, almost as soon as they knew they were onto something big, something strange started to happen in the background. Suddenly the machinations of corporate finance became more important than the dream they were all trying to fulfil, and as politics and business plans began to take over, David Sonderheim had slowly lost the support of the core team that had made the Gen8tyx Company what it was.

At the same time, one by one new staff were being recruited into the company without the knowledge of the rest of the core team. One day they would come into the lab, and hey presto, there'd be another member of staff, effectively shadowing your work, following you around the lab.

Who were these people? Why were they being recruited?

Then all of a sudden David Sonderheim had made the announcement that the Gen8tyx company had been purchased and was now moving to a bigger facility near San Francisco, California.

Not surprisingly, many of the original core members of the team refused to uproot their families and leave behind their friends.

"You'll be sorely missed. All of you!" was all the beloved Professor Sonderheim had said at the breakfast meeting he had called 'in honour' of a select few. The modern European term 'made redundant' had not hid the fact that effectively they had all been fired, right there on the spot between the orange juice and the toast. Now the purpose of the new recruits had been obvious.

At first the anger had been a blanket which had covered all their reason. Then together they had begun to make their own plans. Plans for their own futures.

He had done his best to protect those plans and he told himself repeatedly that what he had done had only been in the best interest of the group...

That's when the suicides had started to happen. One by one they had been found dead, murder and suicide becoming horrendously confused.

It was time to leave. To disappear.

He had got out just in time and now nobody knew where he was. Not even his sister or brother.

For the near future at least, he was safe.

\--------------------

Sarah Schwartz was an attractive seventeen year old brunette. Five foot seven, a dimple on her left cheek, a fantastic smile, green eyes and very large breasts. Not exactly the typical computer nerd you would expect to find working in the security department of a national bank in New York.

Next year she hoped to go to the local college. If she got good grades in her final exams, perhaps she would even make it to state college and become a math major.

Math was her thing. She felt comfortable with figures, and was easily able to understand and manipulate the notation of mathematics, which others could only see as a foreign language without any meaning. She wasn't a genius. She wasn't gifted. But she was definitely above average. And at $18 dollar an hour, it was probably the best summer job she had ever had.

Brought up with a strict Lutheran background, this was her first time in the Big Apple. She didn't get out much at night time. She didn't have many friends, although recently quite a few strangers had asked if they could meet her for a drink after work. The people in New York seemed to be very friendly. She had been tempted a few times, but she knew her parents in Pennsylvania wouldn't approve. Instead, she stayed at home babysitting for her cousin's daughter, looking out of the window of their apartment on the twelfth floor and watching the flashing lights of the city below.

Today she was on credit watch. It was one of her favourite activities, because it allowed her to study, and get paid for it. For most of the time there was not a lot to do, and for several hours each day she would be able to just sit there and read the latest text book on the list of 'college recommended reading'.

She sat at a large desk in a small dimly lit room at the back of the bank. The room was comfortable apart from the constant hum of air conditioning, which for the first hour of each shift was always incredibly annoying until all of a sudden her brain would somehow adapt to it and manage to filter it out. After that she never noticed it was there, until she stepped outside the room at the end of the shift and was deafened by the silence.

The desk was covered by a large panel of computer monitors, across which a continuous flow of credit card numbers passed in a never ending stream. Each of these numbers represented the number of a credit card which had been stolen or black-listed in the last five days. In the top right corner of each screen there was an empty red box.

Sarah's job was to watch the screens and notice when one of the numbers in the continuously flowing screen suddenly appeared in the little red box. As soon as one did, she was meant to call up that number on another screen and examine the details. The information she would be presented with would confirm that the credit card had just been used again, and would give her the exact details of where and when any transaction had taken place. As soon as that information came up on the screen, she was to hit the 'print' key on her terminal, then carry the report through to Mr Johnson in the other room.

On average, in a six hour shift, about twenty numbers would appear in the little box. The rest of the time her biggest problem was staying awake.

She was halfway through reading the chapter on 'An introduction to Fourier Analysis' when the console beeped at her. She looked up, and there sure enough, was a credit card number flashing in the red box.

As she had done so many times before, she moved to the other keyboard, and called up the details of the flashing number. According to the screen, someone had just used the credit card belonging to a man called Alex Swinton, whose card had been reported missing a few days ago. The record showed that it was a cash withdrawal, about four thousand Rand, a conversion of dollars into the local currency of South Africa. The withdrawal had just been made in a town called Wilderness, at 11 p.m. in the evening, local time.

She waited for the printer to rattle off the details, then swooped them up from the print tray and walked through to Mr Johnson's room. She knocked and waited for the loud 'come in' before entering.

Mr Johnson sat at a large brown desk, peering up from the newspaper he was reading, a fresh cup of coffee steaming in his hand.

"So, what have you got?" he asked from behind his sleek, designer-label, black glasses, his eyes wandering quickly from her face down to her large cleavage, and then to the report in her hand.

"Someone just used a card in South Africa. A few hundred dollars."

She handed the paper over to Mr Johnson and left.

Johnson watched the girl walk out the office, following the wiggle of her bottom and fantasising for the hundredth time that day just what it would be like. She was good at her job, but that wasn't why he had hired her. They say you make up your mind about someone in the first twenty seconds of an interview. Well, with Sarah, it had only taken three: the amount of time it had taken to see how outstanding her qualifications for the job really were. And since then, coming to work in the morning had been just that little bit more interesting.

He picked up the report she had dropped on his desk and scanned the details. Then reaching inside his jacket pocket, he pulled out his personal diary, flicked it open and found the telephone number he was looking for. He dialled it carefully and when his contact in Miami answered, he spoke quickly.

"We got contact on one of the card numbers you wanted us to trace. Turns out your man Alex Swinton is in South Africa." He read the list of details aloud then hung up.

On his normal bank salary, Mr Johnson would never have been able to afford his active lifestyle. Meeting the woman from Florida in a bar one night had been the best thing to happen to him in years. At five thousand dollars a number, his freelancing activities certainly paid off.

Chapter 6

Day Eight

Hooters Bar

Fort Lauderdale

Kerrin watched the entrance, keeping an eye out for his old friend. It would be good to see James again. It had been a while.

Old James Callaghan, or IceBreaker as they used to call him, was one of the few people that he still had contact with from his days at the police academy. Over the years he had either lost the numbers of the others in his graduating class, or the phone conversations between them all had just petered out. Only James Callaghan stayed in contact.

He was a hulk of a man, and definitely not the sort of person you wanted to get into a brawl with in a bar. He had earned the nickname 'IceBreaker' during the first week of the academy, by putting ice cubes down on the edge of the bar, and breaking them into pieces with his forehead. A few other people had tried it: one of them almost got concussion, and the other had cut his head open. IceBreaker's skin was so thick that it didn't even leave a mark on him.

Before he had joined the police IceBreaker had spent some time in the U.S. Air Force, until a severe infection had messed up his inner ear so badly that he failed the medical and wasn't allowed to fly again. Being grounded without a pilot's licence was not something IceBreaker could stomach, so he had been granted an honourable discharge.

Kerrin had arranged to meet him tonight so that he could tap some of the knowledge from his Air Force days: he wanted to know where the military jet that might have been tailing his brother-in-law could have flown from. IceBreaker knew the skies around the Caribbean, and had been stationed for a while in Florida. Plus, he still owed Kerrin a big favour, for introducing him to the girl that later became his wife.

"Deadeye! How the devil are you?"

His friend stood in the doorway, even more massive than the last time he saw him. Kerrin was shocked to see that he was now almost as wide around the waist as he was around his massive, hulkish arms and biceps. Middle age spread had claimed yet another victim.

Kerrin smiled at the mention of his own nickname. He hadn't heard it for years. So earned, because on their first attempt at shooting handguns on the police firing range, Kerrin had scored a bulls eye. At first they had joked, pulling his leg and saying it was a fluke, but when he had walked off with the academy's 'Top Marksman' award at the end of the course, everyone had stopped ribbing him and given him the name out of genuine respect. Turns out, Kerrin was an excellent shot.

"No one has called me that for years!" He stood up, and wrapped an arm around his friend's shoulders in a quick bear-hug.

They shook hands and while the IceBreaker sat down on the stool beside him, Kerrin caught the attention of the nearest waitress, and ordered two large cold beers.

"So how's the big world of publishing?" James asked.

"Oh you know, never a dull day and all that...not exactly as exciting as the police force, but..."

James knew how much Kerrin had liked the police, and he knew how hard it had been when he had given up the job so that he could spend more time at home looking after his wife. Kerrin had been one of the best officers in his graduation class at the academy. He had just been promoted to Captain when Dana had been crippled. If things had been different and he had stayed in the force, Kerrin would have gone far. He was good at this job and everyone liked him.

"And Dana? How is she?"

"Better, much better..." Kerrin replied.

Over a few beers they caught up on old times, laughing at old memories, and talking about the daily routine of the lives they now both led. Eventually they came round to the question of the evening. It was James who brought it up.

"So young 'Deadeye', what's up? What do you want from me?"

"What makes you think that I want anything?"

"Just call it a cop's instinct. Or maybe it's just that you've paid for all the beers so far...you must want something!"

"Is it that obvious?" Kerrin laughed. "...The thing is, a couple of days ago the paper sent me down to do a routine report on a plane crash in the Bahamas. A wealthy American businessman was flying his jet down to Nassau when it exploded en route. Could be a terrorist attack, or just an accident. I'm trying to find an angle on it, trying to spice it up a little. Interestingly, an eye witness on a fishing boat saw the plane explode and he claims to have seen a military jet flying around the area at the same time the plane exploded. I want to track down the jet, and talk to the pilot to see if he was in radio contact with the businessman before his plane went down, and to find out whether or not he saw anything..."

"What do the airport people in the Bahamas say?"

"Nothing. They spent a few days on it, then closed the case. They didn't mention the jet at all, which was curious in itself. According to them there were no other planes in the area..."

"So what do you want me to do exactly?"

"I was just hoping you might be able to tell me which airbase a military jet flying in that airspace could have come from? Then I can contact the public liaison officer at the airfield, and see if he can help me answer my questions."

"So who was the guy who died? Someone important?"

"Could be, we don't know yet. That's one of the things I'm trying to find out." A small lie, but Kerrin had decided to leave out most of the details. It wasn't necessary to get James involved if there was anything dangerous going on...at least not yet. Maybe later.

"Off the cuff, I would guess that the plane could have come from any one of three or four bases." James said. "Listen, I've still got some contacts. Why don't you leave it with me. I'll make a few phone calls tomorrow, and get back to you. It shouldn't take long."

\--------------------

Day Nine

The next morning Kerrin spoke for an hour with his wife. He hated leaving her alone, but thankfully nowadays she was so much more independent.

Before the accident Dana had been a software designer. Luckily, her old company had given her a new job where she was able to work from home. She only needed to go into the Washington office once or twice a week, for meetings or to discuss her work with her colleagues. At first Kerrin had been too overprotective towards her. It had taken him longer to come to terms with her disability than she had. Then at Dana's suggestion, they had hired a maid who came round each day and helped out around the house. Knowing she also kept a caring eye on Dana, he didn't feel so bad about leaving her alone for a few days at a time. Which was good, because he was going to have to spend a few more days in Florida.

It was only 10.45am, but already the beachfront at Fort Lauderdale was busy, people cruising the beach front in their open top cars, college kids hanging out on the beach, and runners jogging up and down, trying to burn up the calories and lose a few pounds.

He finished his eggs and hash browns at the street side café, and sat back in his chair with a fresh coffee, trying to plan what he should do next. It was important that he try to separate his personal feelings from what was going on. If he was going to get anywhere, he had to be objective, had to distance himself from what had happened. And at the moment there was no real proof that the explosion that killed Martin was not just an accident.

Kerrin had spoken to his sister late last night, and asked for the addresses and phone numbers of Martin's old work colleagues. The next step was to drive up to Miami and visit their families.

He checked out of his hotel, and then drove to the petrol station and filled up with gas. It was a fantastic day, and on impulse Kerrin decided to take the coast road from Fort Lauderdale to Orlando.

The cell phone in his pocket buzzed, and Kerrin whipped it out.

"Hey DeadEye, it's James. Got some news for you!"

"Already? That's fast!"

"What do you expect? Anything for a pal...anyway, I've got to leave in a minute so I'd better make this quick."

"Okay, so what have you got then?" Kerrin asked, pulling over to the side of the road, and taking out his note book and pen.

"I spoke to one of my friends who still flies in Florida, and he agrees with me that a jet would only be able to cover that area from one of four different airbases, Avon or MacDill in Tampa Bay being the most likely. Anyway, being such a nice guy, I called all of them and spoke to the duty public liaison officers...gave them an official police line, about us investigating the mysterious disappearance of a private jet taking off from Miami...did they have any aircraft operational in the area ...and did they see anything on radar at all?"

"And...?"

"Well, it took a while, they all had to make a few checks, but the official line is that none of them had any jets in that area at that time. Nothing. And according to the duty officer at MacDill, there would be no other airfields that would send a jet down there without them knowing about it."

"But, that doesn't make sense...we have an eye witness who saw it!"

"How reliable is the eyewitness? More reliable than Uncle Sam? Officially there was nothing there...Listen, I have to go, is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Actually, now that you ask, there is one more thing..."

Kerrin quickly explained about the suicides he wanted to investigate.

"Woahh, boy. What exactly is going on here? Is there just the slightest possibility that old DeadEye is not telling me everything?"

"Could be. Don't know yet. Anyway, can you get me a copy of the police reports on the suicides...just to look at them?"

"I can't promise anything, but I'll try. I have a friend in the Orlando Homicide department...but you owe me big time, you know that don't you? Anyway, got to rush now boyo. Speak to you later."

It was true. If he could get a look at those files, Kerrin would owe him big time.

\--------------------

Major Anders was a little nervous. The public liaison officer at MacDill Air Force base had just left his office. It seems that things were not as clear cut as he had hoped they were.

Regrettably, he knew he should call his contact in New York. He would have to know.

He poked his head out of his office and told his secretary to hold any calls. Returning to his desk, he sat down heavily in his chair and breathed deeply, trying to control himself. When he felt a little calmer, he dialled the number in Manhattan, and waited for the phone to be picked up. Once again, the phone rang quite a few times before it was eventually answered.

"Major Anders, how pleasant it is to speak to you again so soon..." the man said, obviously surprised that he was calling.

"Thank you, sir. I thought it necessary to inform you that the hole-in-one my golf partner scored in his recent round of golf may have had a witness after all!"

"How exactly do you mean?" the voice asked.

"A police officer has been making enquiries...trying to find out if we had any one out playing golf at the time..."

"And did you?"

"No...officially not. We made that very clear..."

"Good."

There was a moments silence, then the voice continued.

"Perhaps it would be a good idea if you were to transfer your golf partner. Somewhere far away, just in case he were to brag of the hole-in-one to anyone. We wouldn't want this to go any further, would we?"

"No sir. Absolutely not. I'll see to it right away."

Chapter 7

Orlando

Florida

When Kerrin left the outskirts of Miami, he had the beginnings of a rough plan in his mind. As a policeman turned journalist, over the years he had had his fill of conspiracy theories. Modern America was a paranoid nation. It seemed that every second person in the country believed that around every corner, behind every piece of news, or political event, some sinister conspiracy lay lurking in the shadows. Once upon a time, he too had even believed in such things.

But over the years, Kerrin had seen and been through a lot. From his years on the force, his work at the Post, and living through the pain of the car accident, his views on life had matured faster than most. He no longer believed in the 'greater plan', or the corporate monster wishing to devour and control every waking moment of the free individual. Instead he just believed in life. Day to day life. The fight for survival.

Conspiracy theories were the product of a nation gone mad on science fiction or fantasy magazines, a generation that was no longer able to find satisfaction in the day to day routine of everyday life.

People no longer took the initiative to fill their lives with interesting activities. Instead, happiness came from TV, alcohol or drugs, and when something went wrong with their own lives, when more than one or two bad things happened in quick succession, well ...conspiracy theory!

Kerrin wasn't one of those people. It would take a lot for him to accept any form of conspiracy theory. On the face of it though, there did seem to be something fishy about the recent events surrounding the Gen8tyx Company, although he didn't yet know whether or not they were related to the explosion in his brother-in-law's plane. However, it struck him as odd that the air force had denied the existence of any military jets in the vicinity of Martin's plane when it had crashed. Normally the public liaison officers of the USAF would have co-operated openly with the sort of police request for information that James had made.

He thought about that a lot during the drive up to Orlando. The only witness to the jet being there was the testimony of the old fisherman. Reporters and policemen alike go a lot on their gut instinct, and Kerrin had no reason to believe that the old man had made it up. His instinct told him he was telling the truth. So why had the air force denied it? There could only be two reasons.

Firstly, the plane had been there on an exercise and the military could not admit it. Which was strange, because if it had been on a secret exercise it would surely have been easy to admit that 'an exercise had taken place but that they could not discuss the matter further'. That was standard procedure.

All things considered, the likelihood was that when they said there had been no exercises taking place at that time, they had told the truth.

Secondly, the other possibility was that the plane had been there, but no records had been kept of its flight. In which case the liaison officer at the base where the jet came from may not have known about it, and he could have been telling the truth. However, the order to authorise a flight and then make it disappear from the records would have had to come from someone very high up. Someone very high up indeed.

He played with his thoughts, mulling them over in his head as he drove, and the more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that Old Ben had not imagined what he saw.

The natural conclusion was that the plane had been there, but the air force had denied it. Which meant, that if he trusted his reasoning, the records of the flight had been deliberately lost: in other words someone had ordered a flight which the US Air Force kept no record of...

"Conspiracy Theory"..."Conspiracy Theory"...the words echoed in his brain. "Shit, this is getting me nowhere...," he swore to himself.

He pulled into a Denny's and ordered himself a salad and some coffee, sitting himself down in the corner away from the rest of the diners. He needed to think.

Okay, so he was suspicious of the events surrounding his brother-in-law's death, but before he would allow himself to make any link to the deaths of Martin's co-workers, all of which could have perfectly natural explanations, he needed to investigate them for himself.

Even if it did turn out that the team had been murdered and they had not committed suicide, who was to say that it had anything to do with the company they had just left? That would be too obvious.

According to what his sister had told him, there had been six members of the original core team that David Sonderheim, the founder of Gen8tyx, had brought together. Five were now confirmed dead. The other one was missing. If in the next few days he also wasn't found dead somewhere, Alex Swinton would become one of Kerrin's main suspects. He was either in hiding and in fear of his life, or he was running away, scared of being caught and probably guilty as sin. Either way, Kerrin would need to talk to him.

For now though, Kerrin needed to speak to the families of those that had died. He needed to find out for himself how they died, and ultimately, why?

\--------------------

The request Kerrin had made to view the police reports of all those who had committed suicide in Orlando, combined with the question about the military jet, intrigued Captain James Callaghan of the Miami police department.

He knew how the mind of a policeman worked, and he knew that reporters didn't ask questions without a reason. So Kerrin, an ex-policeman and now a reporter, would have a very good reason. James would love to know what it was.

When he got back to the station, after dealing with a break-in at a local drugstore, he shut his office door and put in a call to his buddy over in Orlando.

"Hey Andy, how-ya-doing?"

"James, good to hear from you, man. What's up?"

"Oh, you know, just the same things...hey did you hear about that bank robbery down in the Keys last week? What did you make of that?"

"Shit, yeah, a kid of twelve walks into the local bank and holds them up? Shoots the bank manager and leaves?"

"Yeah, but did you hear the latest?"

"Nah,...what?"

"The bank manager was his uncle! They caught the kid...the uncle had been abusing him, and the boy had had enough. In a way, you can't blame him, can you?"

"No. Would have done the same myself...Bloody weirdoes..."

"Talking of weird shit...have you heard anything about four or five guys working for the same company in Orlando, who all committed suicide in the space of a week?"

There was a moment's pause at the other end of the line.

"Yeah, funny business...I had to go and interview one of the families myself. Pretty sad really, the guy lost his job, then injected himself with some drug one night in his old office...He left a note. Clear cut case really. Nothing suspicious... Why do you ask?"

"Oh, somebody from the same company got killed down here, and the wife reckons that somebody was murdering them all. Nothing to do with suicide...Say, mind if I take a look at the files myself?"

"Hell no, anything to help. Listen, I can fed-ex them to you this afternoon. You should have them first thing tomorrow. Is that fast enough?"

"Cheers. Owe you one buddy."

"You sure do."

His friend Andy in the Orlando force was a good man to have in a tight spot. When he had worked in Miami they'd been good friends.

About an hour later, James was sitting at his desk writing up a report from the morning's patrol, when the phone rang.

"Hey James, it's Andy."

"Problem?" James hadn't expected Andy to call back so soon.

"You could say that. Don't know what to make of it either. All the files on those deaths have walked. Disappeared. No E5 forms filled out to say who took them. And on the computer system, the reports have all been given top security Federal access codes. I can't get into them without the passwords, and if I did, it would get flagged up automatically at the FBI offices in Tampa. I can't help you buddy, and I can't chase it without some questions being asked. Say, what's this about, James?"

"I don't know. Best leave it alone I guess."

"Well, I tried. So when are you going to pay us a visit?"

"Soon. Anyway I owe you one. Thanks."

James hung up, and turned to the window, getting up out of his chair and leaning against the window frame. Outside in the street some kid was writing his name on the sidewalk with a piece of chalk. He looked up and saw James watching him, then got up and ran away.

So why were the Feds interested? And where were the files? Files just don't go missing. There were procedures...if somebody borrowed a file, they left a form saying where they were, so others could get access to them too.

Something funny was going on, but unless Kerrin gave him something more to go on, there was little more he could do from this end. He would call Kerrin and give him what he had.

Kerrin already knew that if he needed more help, he only had to ask.

Chapter 8

Tom Calvert's House

Mrs. Calvert sat in the chair opposite him, cradling a large cup of coffee between her hands. She sat on the edge of her chair, her eyes studying Kerrin carefully. Kerrin could see that she had been crying before he arrived, and her eyes were still red and puffy from the tears.

She was rather a plain woman, in her mid forties, and quite plump. Her shoulder length brown hair had lost its vitality, and she wore no makeup. Kerrin guessed that looking good was probably the last thing on her mind just now.

"Thank you for seeing me at such short notice. As I explained to you on the phone, I'm a relative of Martin Nicolson, one of Tom's colleagues. Martin was my brother-in-law. I'd met Tom myself once or twice when we all played golf together."

"How is Martin?" the woman asked him.

"Dead. He was killed in a plane accident last week..."

The woman stretched out and placed her cup on the coffee table in front. She rose to her feet and started pacing around the room. Tears began to flow from her eyes.

"Not another one...it's the company. David bloody Sonderheim and his bloody genetic wonder drugs...mark my words, that was no accident...they killed him just like they killed my Tom!"

Kerrin waited a while, letting the emotional wave roll over her. She stood at the end of the sofa, her arms wrapped across her stomach as if trying to comfort herself.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'll be okay in a minute or two."

She walked out to the kitchen, returning with a fresh handkerchief, dabbing at her eyes.

"I'm fine now..."

"I think I should tell you that by profession I am a reporter with the Washington Post. My sister, Martin's wife, asked me to find out what is going on, and make sure whoever is responsible for these deaths is brought to justice. I promised her I would."

"The Washington Post?" She looked worried..."I've got two children...I don't know..."

"Mrs Calvert, I can assure you that if anything is written about this, then no danger will come to you or your family. At the moment, all I want to do is find out what's going on. And why Martin, ...and Tom...died."

"Okay...Okay...," she agreed nervously.

"Now, what I would like to ask you is this: the police are convinced your husband committed suicide. What makes you think he didn't?"

"Tom...suicide?" she laughed through her tears, coughing a few times as the two emotions collided. "Did the police tell you that Tom was a devout catholic? Catholics aren't allowed to commit suicide. It's against their religion. They believe they will go to hell if they do...Or did they mention, that at college he was on the Anti-Drug Crusade, and that three years ago he started a Big Brother Support Programme in a nearby suburb for people trying to kick drugs? Did they mention that? So, you can see how absurd it sounds when you're told that your husband just killed himself by taking a drug overdose?" she stood up again, and Kerrin was forced to look up at her as she spoke. She was red in the face, the anger boiling beneath her words.

"Did they tell you that the week before he died he booked a vacation for us all to Europe? A treat for the kids, and an opportunity for him to start a new life with a fresh start. Tom was looking forward to it...Our first trip to Europe together!"

"I hope you don't mind me asking, but did Tom have any financial problems that you were aware of?"

"No. None. Fortunately, that's one problem we've never had to face. Let's just say that he didn't have to work again...And besides, although I don't like to talk about it, I come from a very wealthy family. Money has never been an issue for me...or for Tom...we shared bank accounts. Tom was fiercely independent though, never wanted to touch my money. And recently, even though Tom was completely against the move of the company to California, financially, he did very well from it. What with his severance package, then the sale of his shares in the company. Do you know how much money he made in the past few months from the stock market? A lot!"

"So, if he had no money problems, was he pleased to lose his job and get lots of free time?" Kerrin asked.

"...No. I wouldn't say that. Actually, he was furious about it! Everything he had worked for in the past ten years was gone. Did you know that he was one of the first people that Sonderheim recruited?"

"So why did he lose his job?"

"Because he wouldn't move to California. Same as the rest. Most of the core team refused to go."

"Why didn't he move?"

"...Because we love it here. Life isn't just about money. We've got everything we need right here in Orlando. And the kids love their schools and their friends. Are you a parent Mr Graham?...Because if you were, you'd know that you wouldn't dream of dragging your teenage kids away from their lives and their friends...No, there was no way we were moving to California! No way!" She sat back down in her seat. The outburst seemed to be over for now.

"Do you know what project your husband was working on before he left Gen8tyx?"

"No. Sorry, I can't help you there. None of the scientists at Gen8tyx ever talked about their work outside the lab. They weren't allowed to, and even if they had, I would never have understood it. I could never understand science at college. Languages yes, science no."

"Did he ever bring any notes or work home with him?"

"No, ...nothing. Nobody was ever allowed to take anything out of the office. They were very strict about that."

"In the weeks leading up to his death, did you notice anything at all unusual about his behaviour?"

"No. But that's not to say he wasn't stressed out. There was something going on at work, tension between him and Sonderheim, and the whole business about having to leave the company. That got to him, but he never came home and took it out on us. At first he was extremely angry that he was going to have to leave his work, but then after he got used to the idea, he was really looking forward to the opportunities that some time off would give him."

"Can I ask you exactly how your husband died? The police are a bit reluctant to let me see the files." He decided not to tell her that they had all mysteriously disappeared.

"The police found him in his office, sitting at his desk, with a syringe in his hand, and a tourniquet around his arm. He had injected himself with something. Apparently he died of an overdose. The police said he had left a note."

"What did it say?"

"I don't know. They wouldn't let me see it."

"Excuse me? What do you mean they wouldn't let you see it?"

"Just that. Said it was evidence and they couldn't release it."

"You have rights...you're allowed to see it!"

"Apparently not. I spoke to my lawyer, and he said that in cases where these types of drugs were involved, at this stage the new State law gives the police the right to protect any evidence, even withhold it from family and friends!"

It had been five years since Kerrin had left the Miami police. He wasn't up on recent Florida law. Maybe she was right.

"...But they did say it was a classic goodbye note. They did mention one line -it said 'say goodbye to my family...tell them I love them...'." She started to cry again.

"You need to be allowed to see it, at least to be allowed to verify the writing on it!" Kerrin insisted.

"The police said it was a printed letter, written on his computer at work. They knew it was his because he had signed it."

Kerrin thought about what she had just said: unless the police had had the handwriting checked by experts, they couldn't prove it was Tom's signature or rule out the possibility that perhaps someone else had copied it. Kerrin would have to get hold of the letter... Then he realised that now the file had gone missing in the police station, without the letter, he couldn't check the signature and prove it wasn't suicide!

After a few moments, Mrs Calvert spoke again, her voice soft and quiet.

"Mr Graham, you need to know that I loved my husband. We lived together for over twenty years. Twenty years! He was part of me...I knew him inside out...and Tom and I had everything to live for. Everything. As his wife, friend, and lover, I am telling you that my husband, Tom Charles Calvert, did not kill himself!"

Kerrin believed her.

Chapter 9

Day Nine

Mike Gilbert's House

In the organisational structure of Gen8tyx, Mike Gilbert had reported to Martin Nicolson. Mike was one of several team members that had been lured to work at Gen8tyx by the honour of working for Professor Martin Nicolson, considered by many to be one of the most outstanding geneticists in the country. Mike was the youngest of the core team. Only twenty eight when they had found him dead on the beach, a hose pipe stuck into the exhaust of his car.

The house was full of photographs of an incredibly active man. Pictures of himself and his friends climbing in Yosemite, skiing in France, and scuba diving in Australia were spread all over the walls, intermingled with portraits of two people very much in love, and enjoying together everything that life could give them.

Mike was single, but it was well known that at the end of the year, he was going to do the honourable thing and marry his long term girlfriend, Isabella. They were expecting their first child, a girl, in January.

Mike had been over the moon when he had found out that Isabella was pregnant. In preparation for the big event, they had moved to a bigger house, and spent the past few months decorating the nursery and shopping together for everything that would make their little girl's life complete. Little teddy bears, dolls and coloured rattles littered the nursery, and it seemed like every shelf in the lounge was covered by books on childbirth, "The First Three Years" as well as "How to get your daughter into Yale!"

As Isabella proudly showed him the house that they had been planning to share together, Kerrin couldn't help but get the impression that Mike was a man who was planning to live as long as possible.

His fiancée was beautiful. Her dark hair, brown eyes and Hispanic tanned skin blended with a sexy curvaceous figure to produce a woman that any man would dream of being with. Even with her child so obviously showing she oozed sex appeal and vitality.

Mike had been a man that had had everything. The sort of man that a lot of men would like to be.

"It makes no sense to me," the woman said, leading him through to the lounge. "Did you know he had just had his first book accepted by a publisher? They reckoned he'd get it published in January, about the same time the baby is due..."

"Mike was a writer?"

"Yes...well, he wanted to be...was going to be..."

"Wow..." Kerrin didn't want to admit that he had been trying for years to get a book published, but the fact that Mike was a writer increased his respect for the young man even more.

"What was the book about?"

"It's fantastic! A fictional thriller about Genetics. They always say that you should write about what you know. Well, Mike knew a lot about genetics."

"I'd love to read it...do you have a spare copy?"

"Sorry, it's all on his computer. And I don't know the password to get into his files. It's funny, he changed the password only a few days before he died and didn't tell me the new one."

"I'm pretty good with computers, would you like me to try and hack into it?" Kerrin volunteered. Hacking was one of his specialties. He had been a master at it when he was a kid, then when he joined the police, it had proved to be one of life's true skills.

"I wish you could, but the police came and took the computer away. They said they needed to make sure there was nothing on there that might give them some information on why he killed himself."

"When was this?"

"Just a few days ago. The policeman left me his card. Maybe you can call him if you like. Now the case is closed I'd like to know when I'm going to get the computer back. There doesn't seem to be any good reason why they should keep it any longer, does there?"

She left the room, coming back with a piece of paper with a police Captain's name and telephone number on it. Kerrin would call him later.

"So, Miss Sanchez, if you don't mind, and I know it might be difficult,...but can you tell me in your own words how Mike died?"

"Isabella, call me Isabella please. Would you like a drink? I wish I could have one, but I have to stick to the soft stuff!" She said, patting her belly, as she got up and crossed to the bar in the corner of the room.

"Whisky neat, please." Kerrin replied.

She poured the drinks, handing him his glass.

"They found him in his car, a rubber tube stuck on the back of the exhaust. They said he died quickly. One of the officers tried his best to convince me that he didn't suffer. He insisted it's one of the best ways to go...as the car fills up with the carbon monoxide you get happier and happier, then just fall asleep and die..." She hesitated a second. "When I saw him in the hospital, about half an hour after they'd found him, he looked so happy, so peaceful...It's funny how some things stick in your mind, but I'll never forget how red his lips were!..."

She started to cry quietly. Kerrin gave her a few moments before carrying on.

"Did he leave a note of any kind?"

"Yes...the policeman said he'd found a letter on the passenger seat. In a brown envelope."

"Handwritten?"

"No, typed...that's a funny question...what difference does it make?"

"Was it signed? Did you get a chance to see it?"

"No...wow, I never thought about that before. Maybe he never wrote the letter, maybe somebody else did? Is that what you mean?" A sparkle appeared in Isabella's eyes as she realised where he was going with the question.

"Did you get a chance to see it?" Kerrin repeated the question.

"No...actually I didn't..."

"Do you know what it said?"

"...Oh, apparently it was quite short...'A typical suicide note' was what the policeman had said. But he told me one line from it...it said, 'Tell my Isabella I love her, and that I'm sorry I won't see our daughter.' That struck me as a little bit funny..."

"Why? What was funny about that?"

"...I've not told this to anyone else because some people, my mother mainly, thinks that naming your child before it's born is really bad luck. Thing is, Mike and I had already chosen a name for our baby...Sonia. Whenever we talked about her we called her Sonia. We always mentioned her by name. It just strikes me as weird that in his last words to me he called her 'our daughter' and not Sonia!"

"The more I look at all of this, there are a lot of things that are weird, Isabella," he said, turning over the tape in the little recording machine that he had placed on the table.

"Do you mind if I ask you a few personal questions?"

"No. Go ahead. But I might not answer them all." She smiled, her eyes twinkling, and for a second the haunted look that she had been carrying around with her seemed to lift. She was truly a very attractive woman.

"What about your finances? Any problem there?"

"No...Gen8tyx were very good that way. We got a big package when he left. A lot more than we expected. Two years salary actually!"

"Enemies...any that you knew of?"

"No. None that I'm aware off. He seemed to get on with pretty much everyone."

"And at work? Were there any big arguments, falling out with anyone?"

"Again, apart from the Director David Sonderheim, he got on great with everyone. We used to meet up with the other couples from the lab at weekends, do barbecues together, that sort of thing...actually we were all pretty close."

"What about Sonderheim then? What was the problem?"

"Just that Mike blamed him for destroying the dream. He really enjoyed his job, then Sonderheim ruined it all, and insisted on moving the company to California. Everyone resented that. Hardly anyone wanted to go. "

"Sonderheim seems to be a pretty unpopular guy. Did you like him?"

"Yes. Very charming. But it was only in the last couple of months that people started having a problem with him...it wasn't just Mike...The others fell out with him too."

"Why?"

"Mike said that 'he'd changed', had somehow lost sight of the dream they'd all shared. That he'd become distant from the rest of the group, and wasn't as friendly as before...was constantly shouting at people and pointing out their mistakes...pushing them too hard."

"What was the dream that you keep mentioning?" Kerrin wondered.

"I wish I knew. He often talked about the work they were doing, but in terms which never really gave away any details. All I know was that they were working on something big. Building up to some wonderful achievement. Something imminent. They had possibly even already succeeded. One night, about four months ago, Mike came home from work early. He had bought flowers, and two bottles of champagne ...He was in such a good mood. All he said was that things at the lab were fantastic, better than they had ever been, and that one day soon I'd be very, very proud of him. I'd not seen him so happy in ages, even when I told him about the baby. Something special must have happened that day!"

But what? If only Kerrin knew.

He left Isabella shortly afterwards, politely declining an invitation to the funeral which was going to take place the next week. As he drove back to his hotel in town, he played the tape back to himself, listening for a second time to her answers.

Kerrin was confused. There just didn't seem to be any reason for Mike to kill himself. On the contrary, Mike had everything to live for.

\--------------------

As the man said goodbye to the lady at the door, and turned to walk towards his car, the Nikon MX2, equipped with a large 400mm zoom lens, took twenty or thirty photographs in quick succession. The photographer, a man in his late twenties, wearing a smart, dark brown suit and tie, had been lucky. Sitting in a car on the opposite side of the road, the zoom lens had allowed him to get a clear view from over a hundred yards away. The photographs had caught the man's face clearly.

As soon as he got back to the office, he would run a trace on the car's registration plates. It would be easy to find out who he was, and where he came from. For now though, his orders were to stay put and find out who else was visiting the pretty Miss Sanchez.

Chapter 10

Day Nine

Sunshine Meadows

Orlando

The next person Kerrin wanted to see was Henry Robert's widow. When his wife had found him hanging from the tree, Henry had still been alive. Unconscious, but alive. He had been taken to hospital within minutes, but he died two days later, apparently from a massive heart attack. According to Kerrin's sister, Henry Roberts had been the first of the team to die. The others had followed in quick succession.

The Roberts' house lay just outside Orlando, in one of the most exclusive suburbs of the city. As Kerrin drove along the road he watched the house numbers and marvelled at the mansions set far back from the road. Large iron gates, and impressive driveways sweeping into the distance, winding their way through immaculately maintained lawns.

Whoever the Roberts were, they certainly knew how to live in style. Or did.

192 Sunshine Meadows was towards the end of the road, set back in the woods, and in one of the best locations of them all.

He stopped the car outside the main gates, and got out, walking up to the intercom on the gatepost. He pressed the button on the wall, and watched how a security camera above the gates swivelled round towards him, the lens zooming out and focusing on him as he waited.

He smiled at the camera, then leant towards the intercom and introduced himself to the voice at the other end.

"Please come in," the woman's voice said monotonically.

When the gates swung open, he drove up the driveway, parking in front of the house. He had only made it halfway up the steps to the front door, when two large Dobermans bounded towards him from the garden, forcing Kerrin to retreat quickly to the safety of his car.

A woman appeared in the doorway, at the top of the small flight of marble steps. She blew a whistle, and the two dogs immediately lay flat on the ground, panting loudly, but still eyeing Kerrin with interest.

"It's okay, they're harmless. They're just playing!" she smiled. "Come inside Mr Graham."

The lady showed him into an impressive study lined with books, with two large green sofas surrounding a long mahogany coffee table in front of an impressive open stone fireplace. As soon as they had sat down, a maid appeared, enquiring what they would like to drink.

"Coffee please. White, no sugar." Kerrin volunteered.

The woman in front of him was in her late fifties, and was dressed in a long, flowing black dress. Although the black showed she was officially in mourning, Kerrin couldn't help but notice the Gucci motif emblazoned on the belt hanging loosely around her waist.

"Well, Mr Graham, I am sorry to hear of your loss. Martin was a kind man. Your sister must be devastated. I'm afraid that when you called I was rather shocked to hear of his death. I had heard that he had disappeared, but had rather hoped he had left the city and was still alive somewhere."

"Thank you Mrs Roberts. And I'm sorry about your husband. Martin spoke very highly of him to my sister."

"Can you tell me please, Mr Graham- how was it that Martin died?"

He explained the details, letting the circumstances of Martin's death sink in, and watching to see her reaction. Her face showed little sign of emotion. If first impressions counted for anything, Kerrin could see that she was a powerful woman, perhaps the driving force behind an obviously very successful man. Henry Roberts had been the Chief Financial Officer of Gen8tyx. According to Kerrin's sister, a shrewd man, quiet, but very clever.

"And do you believe it was an accident Mr Graham, or do you also believe that there was something more sinister behind it all?" the woman probed. Who was questioning whom, Kerrin briefly wondered.

"That's why I'm here. To try and find out what was going on at Gen8tyx. Frankly, Mrs Roberts, I was hoping that I could ask you some questions about your husband..."

"Naturally. Please go ahead. I shall help you in any way I can. But I think that I should tell you straight away that I do not share the paranoia that Mrs Gilbert or Mrs Calvert do. My husband died in tragic and horrible circumstances. He tried to take his own life. But then he died naturally. A massive heart attack. Whatever drove him to such desperate measures, I don't know...," her voice faltered for a second, the slightest trace of emotion rippling through her otherwise placid persona.

"I know this may be hard, Mrs Roberts, but do you have any idea why he may have committed suicide, if it was indeed suicide?"

" None...well, nothing that important. Nothing that should drive a man to such extremes."

Kerrin noticed the hesitation.

"It may not have seemed important to you, however, if your husband was depressed, perhaps..."

"My husband was not depressed, quiet yes, but not depressed. Why is it that everyone automatically assumes that just because a person is quiet that they are sad?"

Kerrin was surprised by how quickly she sprang to defend her husband, particularly as no insult or personal attack was intended. He would have to be more careful in how he chose his words.

"I'm deeply sorry, Mrs Roberts. I did not intend to infer..."

"Oh, no, please, forgive me. It's just that, well..."

"I understand." Kerrin interrupted. "As I said, it's a difficult time for us all."

Thankfully just then the maid arrived with the coffee, politely serving Kerrin first before pouring Mrs Roberts a cup of steaming Earl Grey Tea into a large willow patterned, china cup and saucer.

"Mr Graham, I think I wouldn't be breaking any confidences if I said that something was going on at Gen8tyx that Henry wasn't happy about. It caused him a great deal of stress. I tried to talk to him about it, but he said he couldn't discuss it. He would just come home and lock himself away in his study as soon as dinner was finished, and then speak for hours on the phone."

"Have you any idea who he may have been talking to? It might be relevant..."

"No, I'm sorry. I think a lot of the calls were long distance. They got quite heated sometimes. I even heard him shouting once, and Henry never shouted."

"Did he say anything at all about what was going on?"

"As I said, nothing...," she paused, as if wondering whether or not to mention it. "One night, quite late, about 11 o'clock, Mr Sonderheim came over. He stayed for about three hours, and when he left Henry came into my room and sat on my bed...we normally sleep in different rooms...he sat and looked at me for a while, held my hand, and promised that 'it would soon all be over', that we'd spend more time together, and that 'things would be better'. He said he had got a plan, a way to make sure it would all be okay. But he looked so sad. He kissed me gently, then left. A week later he was dead."

"Had it got something to do with the move to California?"

"I think so. At first we even thought about moving, but then something happened, and Henry said that we were staying put. He was going to retire after all."

"Wasn't Henry the financial genius behind Gen8tyx? I would have thought that they would really miss him?"

"Perhaps, but for some reason, I think Henry discovered that he was not really going to be needed in California after all. I suspect that is why he decided not to move."

Kerrin was beginning to warm towards Mrs Roberts. She was obviously a woman used to high standards and an expensive lifestyle, but in spite of the thick skinned exterior, Kerrin could see that she was suffering inside. He could guess that she was going to miss her husband very much.

"Why don't you think it was murder, like the others?" he asked, referring to Mrs Calvert, and Isabella.

"Of course, I have discussed it with them. Actually, they were both here two days ago for coffee. It was good to talk to somebody else who was grieving too, but Henry never had any enemies. No one would have wanted to kill him...he was so, so sweet! He has...or at least, he used to have high blood pressure. The strain of it all must have killed him."

"Am I correct in understanding that it was you who found Henry after he tried to hang himself?" he asked as delicately as he could.

"Yes. I did." She looked away, staring out of the window. Without looking back she said, "I think I would like another cup of tea. Can I offer you some more coffee, Mr Graham?", she asked, her voice trembling.

Without waiting for an answer she got up and left, not returning until a few minutes later. She had obviously taken a moment to regain her composure. The corners of her eyes were still a little red from the crying.

"I'm sorry, Mr Graham. If I may be honest...this is all rather painful for me. You asked if I found my husband hanging from a tree? Well, yes, I did. How or why he got there I do not understand."

"When was this?"

"Two and a half weeks ago. It was at night, quite late. There had been a phone call. I was in bed already, reading, when Henry popped his head round the door and said he was going back to the office..."

"...An hour or two later, I heard the dogs barking wildly in the garden. They didn't stop. I went to investigate and found them underneath the branch of a tree near the main gate. Daniel, -the maid's husband-, cut him down immediately. Thankfully he was still breathing. The ambulance turned up almost instantly and he was taken to the Mount Royal."

"Did you get a chance to talk to him afterwards,...before he died?"

"No, not at all. I sat beside his bed for two days. I slept in the hospital in a room opposite his, but he was in a coma, and he never came to. He died in his sleep."

"I'm sorry. I know this is hard. But I need to ask these questions...to try and understand what happened and why?"

The maid arrived and re-filled their cups. Kerrin was grateful for the extra coffee. He wanted to stay alert.

"May I ask you one more question, Mrs Roberts. Perhaps a rather personal one?"

"If you must."

"I was wondering if you have any financial problems?"

"To be quite honest, Henry handled all the money, well, you'd expect that wouldn't you, being an accountant! But I can tell you honestly that I am not aware of any financial problems. If there were any, Henry would have told me. Anyway, I'm sure that the money Henry made in his severance from Gen8tyx was sufficient enough to tide us over for quite a while. I got the impression that he'd done rather well out of it all. All else said, Gen8tyx seems to have looked after all of us very well indeed. I know that only last week, rather a substantial amount was deposited in his account."

"May I ask how much?"

"No. I'm afraid you may not. I hope you will understand if I defer from sharing such private details with you, without wanting to seem rude?"

Kerrin took the hint. The interview was coming to an end.

\--------------------

Shortly afterwards, as he drove out of the main gates onto the road, a lady hidden behind the trees lining the street took a photograph of his car.

It was late. The man had been in there for over an hour.

The woman looked at her watch and swore. 9.30 p.m. She should have been relieved thirty minutes ago. She was tired and hungry.

She hated the waiting. It was the worst part of her job.

Her replacement had better get there soon.

She wanted to go home.

Chapter 11

Day Nine

See View Heights

Orlando

"Darling, are you okay?" Kerrin asked his wife, genuinely missing her and wishing he was at home. He could do with a hug and a little bit of TLC. The past few days were beginning to get him down. All this talk of death was not his idea of fun.

"Don't worry about me. I'm okay. By the way, Elizabeth called. She said she's been trying to reach you on your cell phone all day. She can't get through. Can you call her when you get a chance?"

"Yes, thanks, I will. My battery is dead, and I forgot to bring my charger with me. I'll stop by a store tomorrow and pick up another one. Listen, are you sure you're fine?"

"Absolutely. I'm not saying it's good when you're away, but I'm getting a lot done. It's fantastic!"

"Nice to know I'm missed. Maybe I should go away more often?"

"Don't be silly darling, you know what I mean. So when are you coming home then? Soon, I hope?"

"Well, I still need to talk to a few more people, then I was wondering if I should fly to Arizona to see Elizabeth again. I might need to ask her some more questions."

"Can't you do it over the phone?"

"Maybe. I'll see. Anyway, after her, I've got to track down some person who seems to have disappeared."

"Why don't you call me tomorrow? It would be nice if you could get home for the weekend."

"I'll try. I'll speak to you tomorrow."

"I love you darling. Look after yourself!"

She hung up and Kerrin felt a tightness at the base of his stomach. He missed her. He would definitely try to be home for the weekend.

It was a hot night. Oppressive and close. Kerrin could feel the static in the air, and could hear the thunderstorm brewing in the background. Infuriatingly, the air conditioning unit in the room had developed an annoying clicking sound. And now he had become aware of it, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, the tortuous clicking just seemed to get louder and louder.

Swearing aloud, Kerrin jumped out of bed and reached out to the control panel on the wall, sliding the little white button along from "Low" to "Off".

It took him a good forty minutes to fall asleep. Without the air conditioning, the heat on the third floor of the hotel slowly built up in the room, and it wasn't long before he started to toss and turn in his bed, cold sweat drenching his body and the sheets on which he lay.

Restless and uncomfortable, he quickly slipped into the same old repetitive nightmare that he always dreamt when his mind was troubled.

The car he was driving was his labour of love. The fact that it looked almost brand new was the result of all the years he had spent dutifully restoring it back to its former glory. It had been in a terrible state when he inherited it from an uncle, but after five years of hard graft it was once again in pristine condition. Kerrin was immensely proud of his efforts, and he loved to take the Morgan out for a drive in the long tree lined country lanes in the countryside around Dana's parents' farm in Pennsylvania.

The dream was always the same. Every second of it identical.

That afternoon there had been a storm, but now the skies were all clear and the air was clean and fresh.

He would be driving down the country road enjoying the scenery and the sunshine, the warm air coursing over their bodies as they swept around the bends and accelerated along the long, empty roads ahead. The storm had been over quickly. The ozone in the air mixed with the autumn smells from the farmland around, spicing it with the smell of the earth, and the sweet flavours of the wild flowers that grew so abundantly in the hedgerows on either side of the road. Kerrin breathed it deeply into his lungs.

He turned to look at Dana, sitting on the seat beside him, her luxurious long black hair blowing freely in the wind over the back of her shoulders. She smiled back, the late sun sparking in her blue eyes and twinkling back at him. She reached out her hand to Kerrin, and he took his right hand from the steering wheel to hold it.

Her hand was warm. He squeezed it lightly, and she smiled. Dana shuffled over in her seat towards him, pulling the seat belt slack so she could rest her head on Kerrin's shoulder.

He kissed her lightly on the forehead, and wrapped his arm around her before returning his attention to the road ahead.

The tractor was pulling out slowly from a blind entrance to a field. Before he passed through the gates, there was no way the tractor driver could have known whether or not there were any cars on the country road, and if there were, whether or not the car drivers would be paying attention to the road ahead instead of making love to their passengers. It wasn't the tractor driver's fault. This was the countryside, after all.

The brakes on the Morgan were brand new, the tread on the new tyres deep and unworn.

Kerrin saw the tractor ahead, his body reacting instantly and his finely trained police driving skills throwing the Morgan into a swerve around the tractor on the opposite side of the road.

Dana screamed.

Kerrin gripped the steering wheel tightly, his eyes meeting briefly with the eyes of the tractor driver as they passed him by, easily clearing the tractor with a foot to spare.

Once past the tractor Kerrin looked on in disbelief as a car rounded the bend ahead, heading straight towards them. He braked hard, spinning the steering wheel quickly to bring the Morgan back onto the right side of the road.

The storm had not been hard, but the dead autumn leaves had thirstily soaked up the rain. As the car turned around the far side of the tractor, the back wheels of the Morgan fought in vain to find traction on the leaf mulch, and started to skid uncontrollably.

The Morgan spun across the road, Kerrin fighting hard to regain control. Then suddenly the tyres found resistance on the tarmac, and propelled the car forward. Having over compensated too much, the car now spun around wildly in the opposite direction, its momentum carrying it broadside into the car ahead.

The front of the oncoming car smashed into their passenger side, propelling the Morgan backwards and into the hedge at the side of the road.

Kerrin was thrown violently against the door, away from the oncoming car, and the world went black around him.

Dimly Kerrin began to become aware of steam pouring from the bonnet of the Morgan. He turned his head and saw Dana unconscious in the seat beside him, her twisted body hanging awkwardly over the edge of her seat. The impact had thrown her body sideways, whipping her around violently in her seat, the seatbelt of the Morgan powerless to protect her from the spinning, sideways crash. Blood covered her legs, a shard of bent metal protruding through her thigh and poking out through her torn dress.

That's when he woke up. Screaming, and crying.

Kerrin splashed cold water onto the back of his neck and washed his face. Picking up one of the blue hand-towels from the handrail beside the sink, he wiped his face dry.

He walked back to the bed, switched on the cable T.V. and flicked impatiently through the channels without really paying them any attention.

The dream was always the same, and the nauseating feeling in his stomach when he awoke left him cold and drained. For the first few months after the crash, the guilt had been so bad that he had actually vomited when he awoke from the nightmare, but now, years later, he was able to lie back and ride it out.

He knew the pattern the guilt took. He knew he would never be able to put the accident properly behind him. He knew it wasn't entirely his fault. He even knew that Dana had never blamed him for it.

But it seemed so unfair. Kerrin had been driving. If anyone had been guilty for the crash, it was him. Yet Kerrin walked free with only a few scratches, and Dana had been crippled, the impact forces of the two cars jostling Dana so violently that a few vital nerves in her spinal column had been damaged beyond repair.

Sometimes Kerrin would wake up and lie for hours looking across at Dana. Before the accident he had loved her more than he thought it was physically possible to love any other human being. She was his life.

But now she relied upon him so much, he loved her even more.

Yes, sometimes he felt angry at the world. Anger at himself, and maybe even a little self-hate. But more than anything he felt sad. Sad at the life that had now been denied them. The adventures they had planned so meticulously together, the mountain hikes, and cycling trips and the walks along the beach at sunset. All gone. Dreams they had made, that now belonged to another life, for another couple.

Kerrin would do anything for Dana. There wasn't a thing in the world he wouldn't give if he could just undo those few seconds in Pennsylvania which had stolen so much from them both.

Anything.

Including his own life.

\--------------------

The Gen8tyx Company

Day Ten

Purlington Bay

California

David Sonderheim's office overlooked a scenic bay about ten miles outside of Carmel. His office was massive, a large window sweeping round in a giant curve, affording him an incredible view of the sea and their small harbour below. From here he could watch their guests arriving by boat, or just look at the seals bathing on the rocks beside the quay. In the background he could see the large ships heading in and out of San Francisco.

Light flooded into his office, but whenever he wanted, he could regulate the amount of daylight entering the room by electronically changing the polarisation of the glass on the windows. Alternatively, at the flick of a switch, metal shutters could automatically rise and cover the windows, making the room both secure and pitch black.

A small panel on his desk allowed him to control everything about his office. The humidity, the lights, the business facilities, the electronic doors. With the flick of one switch, the far wall would open up, and a large back-lit projection screen would glide into place. From the comfort of his desk he could hold secure encrypted video conference sessions with people all around the globe. In an instant he could view any satellite channel in the world, show company presentations to guests in his office, or divide the screen up into smaller screenlets, so that he could simultaneously monitor the news on CNN, Bloomberg, and Yahoo-Finance.

David Sonderheim loved his new office.

He loved the feeling of power that it gave him. It was obvious to anyone that visited, that the owner of the office was an important man. Successful. Influential.

He crossed the room to the large model of the plant and the clinic, encased within glass and taking pride of place on a raised plinth against one of the walls. He looked down admiringly at the model, and studied the buildings which he had personally helped design and plan. A dream come true.

A dream which had taken a lifetime to realise. It had started long ago in a lower-income family living on the outskirts of Chicago. A young boy with asthma, who had grown up beaten by his father, and taunted and bullied by the other kids at school for his flaming bright red hair, a legacy of his Scottish ancestry.

He had hated his childhood, spending all his spare time in the library, hiding amidst the books and dreading the moment the library would close and he would have to go home. To escape his life, he liked to read stories about other people, people with perfect lives and fantastic families, and he would dream of being someone else.

Someone who could run for miles without running out of breath and struggling for air, and someone who could sleep without worrying about the bedroom door creaking open in the middle of the night and the sound of his father's footsteps coming towards him, drunk and angry.

A weak child, hunted and scared, he dreamt of a day when he would be strong and fit and no one would dare to bully him.

Seeking attention from his teachers, and then later his professors at college, he had studied hard and excelled at everything. He left home as soon as he could and chose a college as far from his father as possible. He soon grew out of being the weak, pathetic child that he was, and turned into a strong, tall and broad shouldered adolescent. His freckled face and flaming red hair helped him stand out from the crowd, and people noticed him wherever he went. And as his confidence grew, he even came to like the attention he received.

As the years past he became fascinated by biology, and then genetics, and slowly his dreams changed.

No longer the scared rabbit, Sonderheim dreamt of power. He saw the promise that genetics offered, the potential to control life, to create life, to change people. He recognised the power that lay behind mastery of the science. The power to take the weak and make them strong. To help the crippled walk, and the ill become well.

And, almost as a side-effect, he saw the opportunity to make money. Vast amounts of money.

Genetics would give him the power he wanted. The power to become a god amongst men.

To do what he wanted, and when he wanted.

And to be able to settle old scores.

Like the one he had settled six years ago, fulfilling one of his childhood dreams.

Since the day he ran away from home to live in dorms at college, he had had nightmares of his father's nocturnal visits. There had been no real reason for the weekly beatings. David had just been an easy target for a weak and pathetic man, who had become embittered with the lot life had given him, and who had not had the courage to do anything about it.

At the time, he had not seen his father for over ten years but his father was a man of habit and he guessed correctly that he probably still drank at the same old watering holes.

So one night they had driven down to the workman's bar, and waited until just after closing time. It was a cold, dark night, it had just rained and steam was rising from the gutters on the edges of the sidewalks. Their large, black limousine looked like an object from another planet, sitting at the end of the road, surrounded by buildings that had long been in need of repair, and with windows broken and boarded up.

Sonderheim sat patiently in the back of the limo, sipping champagne and watching each person as they staggered out of the bar, fifty yards down the road. He had waited a long time for this evening, and now he was in no rush, savouring each moment of anticipation. He was looking forward to the next fifteen minutes very much indeed.

The door of the bar opened, a shaft of light falling onto the sidewalk, and a man staggering forwards into the street. David recognised the figure of the man, stopping momentarily in front of the bar to adjust the cap on his head with both his hands, and reaching into his pockets to take out his cigarettes.

"That's him," David said softly.

The black limo inched slowly forwards, drawing up alongside the man who was walking away from them down the street. Two large men sprang out of the car, and grabbed the drunk man from behind, securing their grip on each of his arms and dragging him into the back of the limo.

Sonderheim's father tried struggling, but as he was pushed down onto the seat in front of David, he stopped resisting and looked up, trying to recognise the face of his son through his drunken haze.

The car drove for a few minutes before turning down a side street and coming to a stop in a dark alleyway surrounded by empty warehouses.

Grabbing the old man, Sonderheim's two henchmen pulled his father out of the car and flung him against the wall, pinning him with both arms and preventing him from moving.

David stepped out of the back door, brushing down his long black woollen coat, and adjusting the black leather gloves on his hands.

He stepped up to his father, who stared at him incredulously without speaking.

The taller of the two henchmen, a black man with a gold filling that sparkled in the orange neon light that dimly illuminated the alley, knocked off the old man's hat and forcibly lifted his face to stare at his son.

"So, father, it's a pleasure to see you again. I won't say that I've missed you, because I believe it's wrong to tell lies, but I will say that I have looked forward to tonight for a long time. A very long time."

"Son, I..." his father tried to speak.

The other henchman, a white man who had spent too long building muscle in the gym, lashed out with his fist. The blow knocked out a tooth and burst the old man's nose, and blood started to pour down his face. Unable to wipe away the blood with both his hands pinned against the wall, his father coughed and spluttered and struggled to breathe.

"No, don't talk when I'm talking to you. That's very rude too." David replied. "You know, it's quite sad really. The number of nights I've spent planning what to say to you tonight, preparing the long speech I was going to give you. But now I'm here, I don't think I'll waste my time. I think I'd rather just get straight to the fun part. Words won't really be necessary. I think you'll get the point...but first, if you don't mind, I'll get myself another glass of champagne. I'm rather thirsty."

David stepped back into the car, and returned a moment later with a fresh flute of sparkling Moet & Chandon. He stood with his back to the car, raised his glass towards his father, and sipped the bubbling, clear liquid. Then he nodded at his men, and watched silently as they began to beat his father to a pulp.

He stood passively, his face expressionless but his eyes alive and full of repressed emotion. He watched each blow and each kick as they rained down on his father, and as the blood flowed and the bones cracked, the memories of those nights in his bedroom came flooding back, a scared child being beaten black and blue for no reason he could understand. He remembered the tears, could once again taste the fear, and worst of all, could clearly smell the mess in his trousers that he often had to clear up quietly in the bathroom afterwards.

It was through a dim haze that David saw his father slide down the wall, bleeding heavily, crumpled and unconscious. David was lost in a world from long ago, erasing the memories of his past. Only slowly did he come back to the present and respond to the question he was being asked.

"Boss...Do you want us to kill him? I don't think he can take anymore."

"No...No, thank you. I think that will be enough."

David drank the rest of the champagne, looked briefly at the glass, then threw it down at the feet of his father before turning and getting back into the warmth of the limousine.

That was the last time David had seen him, but since that night the nightmares had never returned.

The clinic and the building displayed in the glass case had taken just over a year to build. It was set far back from the road, at the end of a small valley and natural inlet from the sea. From the highway, only those with the correct security clearance were allowed to drive down the winding, freshly tarmacked road leading to the bay, and would get to see just how large the new building actually was.

It was a marvel of modern engineering. The design complemented its natural surroundings and simultaneously captured the essence of modernity and ultra style. If it were not for the fact that officially the new Gen8tyx plant did not really exist, David felt sure the architect and the building would definitely win awards for modern architecture. Built from local stone, and the latest in office glass, the building blended in brilliantly to the local fauna and landscape, and although the large and extensive plate glass windows allowed everyone inside to see out, all the windows were one way only: people at Gen8tyx would be able to see clearly what happened in the world outside, but no one outside would ever be able to see inside Gen8tyx.

All the walls and the glass at Gen8tyx were embedded with the latest micromesh technology which prevented stray electromagnetic rays from escaping the building. It also prevented anyone outside scanning the building inside with laser beams, or high frequency radio probes. Even more, should anyone try to penetrate Gen8tyx security, sensors around the outside of the building continually monitored incoming radiation for anything that would indicate that they were being scanned.

Security at Gen8tyx was tight. The best it could get.

However, before they had completed the move to the new building there had been one small problem. There had been a serious breach of security in the weeks leading up to the move, which they had only just discovered. He should have anticipated it, and taken precautions. It was his fault, and he knew it.

The phone rang on his desk, and David walked back to it from the glass encased model.

"David, have you managed to locate the person who downloaded the data yet?"

The man on the other end of the phone was Nigel Small, from the Seattle operation.

"No, not yet. But I have taken precautions. And we'll get the information back soon. I promise you."

"I am sure you will. Please call me as soon as you have it. This is embarrassing me David. You know that in three weeks I'm going to New York, to make my report. I'm sure you will understand me when I say that it would not look good for either of us if I have to report that your security was breached."

"I understand. But please be assured that I have taken precautions. Even if we can't find the files, I can already assure you that no one will be in a position to make them public." David reached up, and wiped his forehead with a fresh handkerchief. In spite of the latest and greatest in air conditioning that money could buy, he had begun to sweat profusely.

"I shall hold you to that, David. Just don't let me find out that I was wrong to welcome you to the table of plenty."

The line went dead. David was surprised to notice that his hand was trembling. For the first time since the move to California he began to wonder if he was perhaps a little out of his depth.

He didn't need anyone in Seattle to remind him about the missing files. He knew the score, and the danger they represented. He was doing everything he could, and they had already recovered all of the copies, bar two. But it wasn't only the files.

Six of the core team had refused to come to California. Six of the best geneticists in the world. Each one of them had become an example of what the Orlando Treatment could achieve.

As long as anyone of them remained alive, the risk of exposure was too high. The progress that had been made through his new found contacts had been brilliant, but one person was still evading their grasp. The Alpha team had been successful in tracking him down to South Africa, but as of yet, Alex Swinton was still free.

David couldn't afford to fail his superiors. He knew only too well that things hadn't gone as smoothly as planned over the past couple of months, but he was determined to rectify that. Nothing would come between him and his dream. Nothing. And no one.

He dialled a number in Miami. It would be about five o'clock there now.

"It's Sonderheim. I want to know exactly what progress you've made. We only have a week left before the shit hits the fan..."

Chapter 12

Day Ten

Sam Cohen's House

Orlando

Sam Cohen was the last on Kerrin's list of those who had 'committed suicide'. According to Kerrin's sister Elizabeth, Sam was not married, and he lived with his elderly sister on the outskirts of Burlington, a little seaside town, about fifty miles north of Orlando. Apart from the address, and the telephone number, that was about all Elizabeth could say about him, except that Sam was the quietest of the group, and didn't socialise as much as the others.

First thing in the morning Kerrin drove to the nearest mall, and bought himself a new battery and a cell phone charger. Keeping the receipts so that he could claim it all back on expenses from The Post later, he drove out of town and headed towards Burlington.

En route he stopped at a deli to pick up some breakfast, and made a call to Cohen's sister. Luckily she was at home, and after explaining about Martin and what he was trying to do she agreed to see him.

Once again the weather in Florida was perfect. "Wake up to Another day in Paradise, Welcome to Florida!" he remembered reading somewhere on a car sticker. They weren't far wrong. The place was beautiful.

He missed living in Florida. Deciding that he wasn't in such a rush after all, he took the next exit off the freeway, and found his way back down to the coastal highway. It would only take an extra thirty minutes if he went the scenic route.

The coast road wove in and out of towns clustered around their own little patch of sandy coastline, full of happy people stretched out on the silver sands, playing volleyball and already supping beers. It reminded Kerrin of his times spent on Spring Break down in the Keys, before he had joined the force.

Although not too busy, the route Kerrin had chosen was taking longer than expected, the numerous traffic lights along the way forcing him to continuously stop and start while switching his attention back and forward from the beach to the road ahead.

Just after passing through a little town called Crighton Heights, Kerrin realised almost too late that the light in front had changed colour.

Slamming on the brakes, he managed to stop just in time. Anticipating the jarring thud that could come from the car behind slamming into his rear end, he flashed a backward glance in his rear mirror. Luckily, the nearest car to him was quite far behind, a blue Mazda, which had no problem in stopping, and came easily to a halt several feet behind him. Slightly embarrassed, Kerrin drove on, and learning his lesson, paid less attention to the bikini clad beauties on the beach, and more to the road.

The Cohen household had a fantastic view of the beach. Their private stretch of land ran from the house down across the sand dunes to the silver beachfront, just visible from the road. The house was situated high on a hill at the end of a low lying piece of headland, which commanded an excellent view of the sweeping bay in front.

It had to be said, that the core team of geneticists at Gen8tyx all seemed to be doing very well for themselves. All of them had expensive houses, and the cars parked in the driveways were not exactly cheap.

"It's a beautiful view isn't it? You can understand why my brother loved to live here so much!"

The voice of a woman caught him off guard. He had been so wrapped up in the panorama, that he had not seen her coming out of the house and walking down the path to the roadside.

The three storey house was set back from the road, a large covered porch running around the outside of the building. The sunlight bounced off the bright white walls, and glistened off the beautiful, well-tended, exotic flowers and shrubs that bordered the house and the edge of the path. Everything looked fresh, clean and inviting. The bright green of the grass, obviously irrigated well and often, cut a sharp yet complementary contrast to the bright yellows, reds and blues of the flowers, the white of the house, and the blue of the sky and the sea beyond. It reminded him of a fairly tale house, the sort of house a person always dreamt of owning, but realistically knew he never would.

Except Sam Cohen had realised that dream. Then he had died.

"I'm sorry. I didn't notice you, I was admiring the view of the house and the sea so much. My name is Kerrin Graham...I called you about an hour ago?"

"Yes, yes, I guessed it was you. Welcome to 'Traum Villa'. It would have made Sam happy to know you like the place so much. Come...come, I have tea. Or would you like a cold beer? Sam liked cold beer..."

He followed her into the house, noticing immediately how clean and ordered everything was. The interior was as beautiful as the outside. Golden, bright, almost glowing wooden floors, with white, yellow and cream walls. Luxurious white leather armchairs and sofas, fresh cut flowers. The scent of lemon in the air...In spite of the fact that the place looked too clean, perhaps a little too much like a museum that wasn't lived in for Kerrin's taste, he had to admit to himself that he had fallen in love with the building as soon as he had seen it. He would not have to ask Sam Cohen's sister why he had not gone to live in California. It would be a stupid question.

She took him past several rooms in to the back of the house, to a living room which took up most of the ground floor. The back of the room was dominated by a set of vast, panoramic windows which ran from the floor to the ceiling and captured every ounce of light, letting the vista of the blue bay outside flood into the house and wash over him.

In one corner of the room was a large, white, Steinway grand piano, and immediately Kerrin was seized by the romance of what it would be like to sit at the piano and play, looking out onto such a view.

The room was incredible.

He turned to Ms Cohen, about to say something, but was met by her smile. She had been standing by his side, studying his reaction to the room and the panoramic view, and when he noticed her smile, the pride in her eyes, he knew that words were not necessary. Instead he just smiled back, and for a moment something was shared between the two of them.

"Sam would have liked you Mr. Graham. How can I help you?"

\--------------------

As his sister told the story, Kerrin learned that Sam's story was both a sad and happy one.

In spite of himself, Kerrin began to like the man, and he wished that he had been able to meet him in life, and not in tales of death.

Sam had married once, but after five years of happiness together, his wife and unborn daughter had died in childbirth.

While courting, Sam and his wife-to-be had first found the house together one afternoon, when strolling along the beach. In those days, the house was old and run-down, but in the weeks that followed whenever they walked along the beach, hand in hand, they had looked up at the house and played imaginative games, describing to each other how they would repair and restore it if the house belonged to them. They had dreamt dreams of a life together, and of growing old in the house on the hill.

Then one day, the old woman who lived in the house had died and without his girlfriend knowing, Sam had bought the deeds to the property.

On the night he proposed to her he had taken her to the gate at the bottom of the path that led from the beach to the house, and had gone down on one knee.

She had cried, and when she said 'yes', Sam had given her the keys to the house.

From then on, and for the rest of her life, she had worn the ring that bound the keys of the house together as her engagement ring. Three months later they were married, and together they had started to repair and rebuild the house.

Theirs had been a happy marriage. Two lives, one love. Strong and beautiful.

Sam had never remarried. Had never loved again. Had never fully found how to live again. A life lived in the past.

The house had become a memorial to their love.

The house on the hill.

As Sam's sister had recounted the story to him, Kerrin felt himself strangely moved. The fairytale house with its own little fairytale. It seemed so unfair that tragedy had come back to revisit the same household so cruelly.

"So how did he die, Miss Cohen?"

"The police say he drowned himself. They found the body lying on the beach at the bottom of the garden."

"And did he?"

"Of course not. The part of the story that I haven't told you yet was that Sam and his wife had made a vow to each other, a vow which they had sworn to each other and taken as solemnly as their wedding vows. On the first night they had come here, after Sam had bought the house, they sat in this room and opened a bottle of champagne. They were young, and in love. Their lives were before them, and as they sat in the house with the paper peeling off the wall, the old oak doors rotten with woodworm, and the water dripping through the roof, they made a lover's promise to each other..."

Sam's sister was smiling, but the tears had started to roll from the corners of her eyes.

"...They had promised each other that they would rebuild the house, and turn it into the most beautiful house in the world...a house of dreams...the 'Traum' house. No matter what happened to each other, if one of them died, the other person would make sure it was finished."

"...They were young, they were in love...perhaps a little foolish...neither of them could have foretold her tragic death so soon afterwards. Anyway, Sam never forgot the vow he made. He has spent the past twenty years fixing the house up with his own hands."

"I don't understand..." Kerrin loved the story, but didn't see where she was going with it.

"Come with me...come with me," she urged him, beckoning with her hand.

He followed her out of the large living room and up three flights of stairs, coming out into the attic space beneath the roof. Unlike the rest of the house, which was almost perfect in every way, the attic was a mess. Floorboards were lying piled on top of each other in a corner underneath one of the gables, and the smell of fresh paint still lingered in the air. Electricity cables hung loosely from the ceiling, and some plastic pipes lay in a pile, beside some carpet tiles, which were still in their boxes, untouched and unwrapped.

"Sam had just started working on the attic. It's the last room to be done in the house. He was taking his time with it, but said it would be finished next year sometime. The house was truly a labour of love, in all sense of the words. Sam was heartbroken, yes, but he would never have broken his vow and taken his own life before he had finished this last room...never..."

\--------------------

They were sitting together again downstairs in the large room with the stunning view, drinking coffee and eating some of Miss Cohen's delicious home baked cakes.

"Could it have been an accidental drowning?" Kerrin asked.

"I don't think so. Sam was very strong. He swam in the bay almost every day. He knew all the tides, all the currents. He could swim for a couple of hours with ease. Only three weeks ago I watched with the binoculars as he swam from here right over to the other headland and back. Do you know how many miles that is?"

Kerrin looked out of the window, following the direction the lady was pointing in.

It was a hell of a long way. He must have been an incredibly strong swimmer.

"Did he have any enemies?"

"I don't think so...Sam hardly ever went out. We lived a quiet life here together. Growing vegetables and tending the garden. It's a possibility he did have enemies, but he never mentioned them to me."

"What about work?"

"He was dedicated to it. Apart from the house, it was his main interest in life. Kept on saying that he wanted to be able to help other people, that what he was doing was really important."

"Do you know what he was working on?"

"No. He said that he couldn't discuss it at home. Not that I would have understood a word. It was enough for me that it made him happy."

"Was he under any stress in the last few months?"

"Of course he was! He didn't want to lose his job, Mr Graham. He wanted to keep it. But he wouldn't...couldn't... move to California. His life was here. With this house..." She paused, moving to the piano and stroking the ivory keys, before picking up one of the pictures that sat on top of it.

She stared at it for a while, a look of admiration showing on her face, then she handed it to Kerrin.

"Look...that's Sam in the top corner. They took that about three weeks ago at the bottom of the garden...just over there."

Kerrin took the picture from her. It was a photo of six people standing in a tight group holding beers and wine, and he immediately recognised that it was a picture of all the people whose deaths he was investigating. Everybody was there...he recognised Martin, Alex, Tom, and also Mike and Henry from the pictures he had seen at their widow's houses.

"May I please borrow this for a day or two, and make a copy of it? I'm sure all the other bereaved relatives would love a copy too?"

"That's a nice idea. Please. But take care of it..."

"What was the occasion?"

"I don't know. I think they had a meeting about what was going on...yes, that's it... I remember now. Sam and Tom, that's him there..."she said pointing to the photo..."they were really concerned about the new people that were joining the company. Henry had guessed what was going on, and I think he called the meeting because he wanted to tell everybody something. Henry,...yes, that's him...yes, it was his idea."

"What happened? Did Sam say anything about it later?"

"No. But after the meeting Sam was both angry and excited at the same time. He said, 'they weren't going to take it lying down.' Talked about a Phoenix, and something about them rising from the ashes? Does that make any sense to you Mr Graham?"

"I think it does. I think that Henry Roberts knew what was happening. He had to...he was the financial guru behind Gen8tyx. Perhaps he called a meeting to explain it all to the others? And maybe they decided to stand up for themselves and start their own company!"

"Oh, that would have been nice. Sam always wanted to have his own company...Poor Sam...Mr Graham, do you know why my brother was killed?" she looked at him, a sadness clouding over her eyes.

"No. Not yet, Miss Cohen. But I promise you, I'm going to find out. And when I do, I'm going to make sure that whoever is responsible will pay for it."

\--------------------

As Kerrin left the house, closing the garden gate behind him, he noticed the blue Mazda sitting on the opposite side of the road, about a hundred yards further up the hill. As he glanced in its direction, there was a flash of light from something inside the car on the driver's side, almost like the reflection of sunlight off a mirror.

He climbed into his car, switched on the ignition, and drove slowly down the hill towards the sea. With one eye on his rear-view mirror, he noticed the Mazda pull away from the sidewalk and start to drive after him.

The same blue Mazda that had nearly crashed into him at the traffic lights only hours before.

\--------------------

The man in the blue Mazda, dropped the newspaper and picked up the camera. His target was just coming out of the house.

"Damn, the sunlight!" the man swore as he tried to take a quick picture. The sunlight was streaming straight into the lens and it made taking any photographs impossible.

He picked up his cell phone from the seat beside him, speaking without introducing himself to the woman at the other end.

"He's just leaving the Cohen woman. What do you want me to do?"

"Nothing yet. Just follow him, and find out where he's staying..."

"Okay. Will do. Have you heard anything from New York?"

"Not yet. In the meantime, don't lose him. We need to know what he's going to do next."

Chapter 13

Try as he might, Kerrin could not shake off the Mazda. It wasn't as easy as it looked in the films and the last time he had been in a car chase, he was the one doing the chasing. He tried stopping and letting the car behind him pull past, but a few minutes later the car was there again, back on his tail. He pulled into a gas station. The car waited outside.

He doubled back on himself. The Mazda followed.

He tried everything he could. It didn't help.

Whoever the person in the Mazda was, they were pretty good. The sort of 'good' that only came from being a professional.

"Come on...you used to be a professional too...Think boy, think!"

The car had been tailing him for almost an hour. He was passing through the outskirts of Miami now, his heart racing at over one hundred and twenty beats a minute, even though he was sitting still and the car was doing the driving.

He frantically absorbed his surroundings as he drove, mentally noting all the alleyways and shops on either side of the road.

"How can I lose him? How?"

He was looking for somewhere to hide. Somewhere to disappear.

It was almost dark now. That at least would help him.

The Mazda was about five cars back. Good, that was giving a little distance between them.

Suddenly on the left hand side Kerrin spotted a garage. A car was just driving out of the attached car wash, and there was no queue behind it. When he looked back to the road he realised he was just coming up to a changing light, and on instinct he gunned it, pushing down hard on the pedal and shooting across the junction.

The cars behind him stopped, trapping the Mazda behind them.

Kerrin accelerated, heading towards the next junction as fast as he could. He reached it just as the lights were changing, and as he pulled through it he immediately hung a left. As he shot off into the street ahead, he glanced sideways, noticing the Mazda just clearing the first set of lights.

The street he had entered was quite clear, and using every ounce of skill he could remember from his police driving courses, he threw his car into a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree hand-break turn and headed back to the junction he had just come from, his high beams on full. As soon as the lights changed, he turned right on the inside lane, a row of moving cars flanking his left hand side.

As he made the corner he noticed the Mazda passing him in the other direction, turning left into the street now behind him.

Kerrin accelerated again, this time easily making the light ahead before it turned to red. Without slowing down he pulled into the garage twenty yards past the lights, and drove straight into the covered car wash.

He jumped out of the car, and walked to the edge of the covered exit, poking his head round the corner just enough to see the road. He waited.

About fifteen seconds later the blue Mazda accelerated past him, heading back down the road towards the edge of the city.

He walked across the forecourt into the shop.

"What's the slowest wash?"

"Wash, wax and dry. Six dollars."

"Fine. Give me four!"

"Four?"

"My car's very dirty."

The man flicked him four blue tokens and change from thirty dollars and Kerrin walked back to the car, popping the first token into the slot. As the machinery around him whirred into action, and the water poured down over the car, he slid back into his seat and started to relax.

Twenty minutes later, he pulled out of the car wash. The blue Mazda was nowhere to be seen.

Two blocks away he found a Hertz rental agency. He took the car in, and swapped it for something a different colour and a little faster. But not so clean.

\--------------------

As soon as Kerrin got back to the hotel room he paid the bill and checked out. Keeping a careful eye out for any suspicious looking cars, he drove about ten blocks away and checked into a motel, where sixty dollars a night got him air conditioning, a T.V. and a room with no view. For now, Kerrin wanted to disappear.

Who had been following him? And why?

He needed to think. To pull together what little he knew, sift through it all and see if there was anything solid that he could go on.

Using the pillows, he propped himself up on his bed against the wall, kicked off his shoes and settled down to do some work. Changing the batteries in his tape-recorder, he pulled out his notebook and listened to each of his interviews once again. This time he made notes, picking up a few new things, some important, some not, that he hadn't caught the first time around.

It was ten o'clock when he had finished, and as he scanned his notes, he satisfied himself that something interesting was beginning to emerge.

He wandered through to the bathroom and ran himself a bath. As he lay back in the warm water, he emptied his mind. His heart was pounding and his mind was racing, and only then did he realise just how wound up and excited he was. Trailing round the relatives of the those who had died, asking questions and trying to unravel the puzzle that was beginning to appear before him, then the car chase... It reminded him of the old days when he had been in the force. He hated to admit it, but even though he shouldn't be given the circumstances of the investigation, he was beginning to enjoy himself.

He took a breath then sank down under the water, trying to relax. But try as he might, he couldn't. Questions kept popping into his mind, new questions, good questions, questions which needed to be answered.

Who were the owners of Gen8tyx?

Henry Roberts had been planning to go to California, but had changed his mind. Why? His widow had guessed that perhaps he had found out that he wouldn't be needed after all.

How could that be? Why would Gen8tyx want to replace their Chief Financial Officer, at a time when he should be needed more than ever?

And what were all those late night long distance phone conversations about? And why had Henry gone to the office so late at night on the evening he had hung himself?

Did he actually make it to the office?

What was it that Henry knew about the business that the others didn't?

Questions. Questions. And more questions.

He got out the bath and towelled himself down, returning to his bed. He decided to go with the flow, and started making more notes as the questions continued to flow into his mind.

His thoughts returned to the suicides...

What amazed him was just how quickly the police had closed the files on their deaths. It was obvious to Kerrin, after just three days of investigating, that none of the deaths were clear cut suicides. The circumstances of their deaths were highly suspicious, and everywhere you started to scratch at the surface you uncovered more questions.

Coupled with the fact that those who had died had all worked for one of the most advanced Genetics companies in the world, on a secret project that none of them could talk about. A project, that according to Mike's fiancée was just about to, or possibly already had, just come to some fantastic conclusion, before they were all fired!

And then again, why had David Sonderheim brought new people into the company months in advance of the move to California? Thankfully, that question at least, was probably easily answered.

Sonderheim had obviously been planning the move for a while, and had perhaps known that the core team wouldn't go. So he had planned it in advance, bringing new people on board, all master scientists in their own right, to slowly take over the work from the original team members.

The question that deserved to be asked though, was 'Why did Sonderheim want to move the company in the first place?' Why was he prepared to lose the experience and enthusiasm of the founding core staff and run the risk of hindering the ongoing development of the company?

The more you thought about it, the more suspicious it became.

"Conspiracy theory. Conspiracy theory..."

The words rattled round inside his head. He quickly shut them out, refusing to let his imagination run wild. He had to look at it all objectively.

But the more objectively he looked at it, the worse it got.

Why had the files in the police station disappeared?

Why were the files on the computer classified by the FBI?

And then, in the midst of all these questions, he remembered Martin's jet blowing up miles above the Atlantic Ocean. He had already concluded that a military jet had been in the same airspace when the explosion had taken place, but that its flight plan had possibly been covered up.

But who had the authority to make a military flight take off, then erase the records as if it had never happened?

"Conspiracy theory. Conspiracy theory..."

Kerrin got up and walked to the fridge. He took out a cold can of coke, and popped the lid, drinking it slowly as he sat back down on the edge of the bed.

"Military jet...explosion...cover up..." His mind was racing. Then suddenly a new thought entered his mind.

"Did the military jet deliberately shoot down Martin's plane?"

The thought filled his head, and for a few minutes Kerrin sat there in silence, staring into space.

Slowly he became aware of a regular, annoying, dripping sound. He got up and went to the sink in the bathroom, turning the tap off tight. He leant on the hand-basin with both hands, staring at himself in the mirror. His face was tired and drawn. Beads of sweat were beginning to appear on his forehead, and his pupils were tiny pinpricks in the centre of his eyes.

The face looking back at him was of someone he did not recognise. It belonged to someone who had just begun to experience the sensation of fear. Kerrin was scared.

\--------------------

"Hey, James, what are you doing?"

"Just got off my shift, heading home! It's been a long day. Two homicides and an armed hold-up. Why, what are you up to?"

"I'm buying you a beer. I need to talk to someone...and I need your help again."

Thirty minutes later the girl behind the bar at Hooters plonked two large cold Budweisers in front of them, pulled a pen from behind her ear, and made two marks on their coasters.

James picked up his beer, studying the bubbles bursting from the bottom of the glass and racing towards the surface.

"So, what's up? I thought you'd be back in Washington by now. Not that it ain't nice having you around. It makes a break from watching re-runs of Friends on cable!"

"Would you believe I just like the weather so much that I don't want to leave again?"

"Nope. You've already told me you need my help. So being the great detective that I am, and using all my powers of deduction, would you be surprised if I guessed that it had something to do with the Orlando Suicides?"

"Wow. I'm impressed. Truly impressed."

"I'm a man of wonders. So what's the deal...what did you find out?"

"Not enough. I've now got more questions than I started with. But one thing's certain. They didn't commit suicide. They were killed," Kerrin said, watching for James's reaction.

"Are you sure? Why don't you run it by me from the top?" James turned to Kerrin, making himself a little more comfortable in his seat at the bar.

Kerrin looked around him quickly. Satisfied that the other people wouldn't be able to overhear them, he started off from when they had last met. James listened attentively, stopping him every now and again to ask a few questions, but on the whole listening to everything Kerrin had to say. When he got to the part about the blue Mazda, his eyes lit up. At the end of it all James whistled aloud. Then he went silent for a while, and Kerrin decided to take a convenience break, leaving his old friend to absorb what he had just heard. He returned a few minutes later.

"So what do you want me to do, good buddy?" James asked him.

"First of all, I want your opinion. Your gut reaction."

"Okay, gut reaction? Catch the first stage out of town, and don't look back. Something funny is going down. And without your badge, you're in way over your head."

"I'd reached that conclusion myself. But I'm glad you agree."

"Second..." James turned to his old friend, resting his hand on his shoulder..."We both know that you're not going to walk away from this, so you're going to need help. And since I'm the only other fool in town, I suppose that means me. "

"Bingo. That's the other conclusion I had reached too. But that's as far as I got...what do I...we?...do next?"

"I'd say your next step is to try and track down the guy Alex Swinton. Either he's dead in a ditch somewhere, or he's the only person alive that might know what's going on around here..."

"But how do I find out where he is?"

"That's where I come in. Leave that bit to me."

"What about the obvious?"

"And what's that?" James asked, annoyed that he might have missed something.

"What about going straight to this guy David Sonderheim?"

"Why? What can he tell us just now? If he's the guilty one, and you start sniffing around asking him questions, he'll just get defensive, and you'll lose any element of surprise you may have. No, you can't talk to him unless you know a bit more about what's going on. Anyway, these deaths might have nothing to do with him."

"You're right. But can you get me some information on him?"

"Like what?"

"Anything. Something's better than nothing. Like, for example, where is he now?"

"I'll see what I can do."

"What about the police files on the suicides? Are you sure you can't get access to the files?"

"No. As I said before, it's not easy. They need Federal access codes. I would have to get somebody else to do it for me...pull a few favours...but the Feds would soon know we were messing around. What's the point anyway? If you know already they were killed, you won't get any new information that way."

"Okay. Okay..." Kerrin agreed. Perhaps seeing the files would give them nothing new.

"What about the hospital? Would they have done an autopsy on Henry Roberts?"

"Maybe."

"Something happened the night Henry Roberts died. There was a phone call late at night and after he took it, he told his wife he had to go back to the office. It would be good to know if he actually made it there."

"Who's to say he was going to the office? He could have been going anywhere. What would really help you, is to know where the call came from, and also where all those long distance calls you mentioned were coming from? Why don't you ask me to get copies of the phone bills?"

"Could you?"

"For you? Sure. No problem."

"Great! The thing is, I was wondering if Mr Roberts had met somebody that night. Somebody who wanted to kill him. Maybe they tried to make it look like suicide by hanging him from a tree, but forgot about the dogs patrolling the grounds. Then they got chased off before they could make sure the job was done properly."

"Feasible..."

"Then luckily for them, ..."

"...Whoever 'they' are..." James interrupted.

"Exactly, then luckily for them, he goes into a coma. But what would happen if he woke up, and told everyone what had happened?..." Kerrin waited to see if James could see where he was going.

"...So they had to make sure he didn't wake up?" James suggested, beginning to enjoy the train of thought.

"...The police told his wife it was a heart attack. Are there any drugs that can kill a man quickly but would make it look like a heart attack?"

"Quite a few, but you wouldn't know they had been used unless you thought the death was suspicious and you were looking for them. When's the funeral?"

"I don't know. "

"Well, if it hasn't happened yet there's still a chance I could have a word with the coroner and ask him to run some basic tests for me."

"Okay. Can you get on to that tomorrow?"

"No problem. Is there anything else?" James asked cheekily.

"Don't think so."

"So what are you going to do next?" James asked him.

"I'll head back to Washington tomorrow. Spend a few days with Dana. Then as soon as you get any information on the whereabouts of Alex Swinton, I'll go after him. In the meantime, I want to find out a bit more about Gen8tyx. I've got some friends in Washington who can help me with that."

"Boy, what would you do without friends?"

"That, my friend, is one question I hope I never have to answer."

Chapter 14

Day Eleven

The Gen8tyx Company

Purlington Bay

California

The long, black limousine pulled up in front of the reception to the Gen8tyx Company and Trevor Simons opened the door, and stepped out slowly. He steadied himself against the side of the car, then stood up tall and smoothed down his expensive Versace suit, before adjusting the position of the Rolex on his wrist. He watched in mild amusement as the group awaiting his arrival scurried out from the protection of the air-conditioned reception hall into the thirty-five degree heat of the Californian afternoon.

His aide stepped up beside him, carrying his attaché case and walking stick, and Trevor took them both.

"Thank you Daniel. Please arrange for my luggage to be taken directly to my room."

"Certainly, sir."

The first of the reception committee walked up to him, reaching out his hand and welcoming him. He recognised him immediately as David Sonderheim, CEO and founder of the Gen8tyx Company. The file he had just finished reading on him was quite comprehensive: an impressive man, intelligent, charismatic and rich, but one whom he should not be foolish enough to trust. Sonderheim was a man of some calibre, but he had not got to where he was today without demonstrating the characteristics of many of the world's great leaders: greed, loyalty only to one's self and one's own personal cause, and the ability to lie proficiently.

Yet every man had a weakness, and Trevor made it his business to find them. Trevor had smiled knowingly to himself when he read the report on Sonderheims' Achilles' heel and weakness. Women. The same, simple Achilles' heel of almost all powerful men, and one with which Trevor would easily be able to manipulate Sonderheim in the future, should the necessity arise.

The others who came scurrying out behind him would be of no importance. Minions of no strategic value. Discardable. Looking through and behind them, he noticed that Colonel Packard had not ventured outside into the heat. Instead, he was waiting patiently just inside the glass doors, within the confines of the cool, dry air and out of reach of the direct sunlight. Trevor respected that. He was not a pawn like the others, to be played as and when was required. Colonel Packard was a powerful man indeed. The title of course was false, and betrayed his true position in the military. Who he really was, Trevor may never know. Like himself, Colonel Packard had no file.

"Mr Simons, welcome to Gen8tyx. I trust you had a pleasant journey."

"Thank you I did. It is a pleasure to meet you Mr Sonderheim. I am looking forward to learning about the Orlando Treatment first hand. Your reports have been most interesting. And if I may say so, your photographs do not do you justice. I did not realise you were so young..."

The direct personal touch caught Sonderheim off balance for a second, and while Trevor scanned the man's eyes for a reaction, he held onto his hand in a long, prolonged handshake which immediately made Sonderheim feel uncomfortable. The first battle of charisma and power had been won. Sonderheim would be no match for Trevor Simons.

"Have the others arrived?" Trevor asked.

"Yes. Everyone is here."

"Excellent. Then let us proceed."

\--------------------

Miami

Day Eleven

Florida

The next flight to Washington that day would be at 1 p.m. That gave Kerrin several hours to tie up a few loose ends.

Foremost of these was to try and get a look at Mike's computer. Ideally, Kerrin would like to have a look at the hard-drive for himself.

Just before falling asleep last night he had remembered that Mike's fiancée had given him the telephone number of the policeman who had taken the computer away for inspection. The telephone number was a local Miami number. Not knowing exactly what he was going to say, he dialled the number. Kerrin always thought on his feet. He would bluff his way along.

A woman's voice answered.

"Hello, Miami Police Department. How may I direct your call?"

"Hello. May I speak to Officer Trevelli of the Miami Police Computer Investigation Department, please?"

"Could you spell it for me please?"

"Officer T-r-e-v-e-l-l-i."

"I'm sorry sir, but Officer Trevelli is no longer with the police department. Can I direct you to anyone else?"

"That's surprising, I was just given his card last week by a man who claimed to be him. Can you please put me through to someone who might know where I may be able to find him?"

"I'm sorry, but you say you were just given his card? Can you hold please, I will transfer you to one of his colleagues."

The sound of an orchestra playing "Don't Cry for Me Argentina" took over from the voice of the operator, and Kerrin had just begun to enjoy the music when a brusque, male voice boomed down the phone.

"Hello? This is Captain Weiss. I understand that you were recently given the card of Officer Trevelli, and that you claim to have spoken to him? May I ask in connection with what?"

"He was working on a suicide investigation and he took away the computer of a friend of mine for investigation and analysis. The case is now closed, and we wanted to have the computer back."

"Can you describe to me what this man looked like?"

Kerrin was surprised by the questions being asked. Something was obviously wrong.

"Excuse me Captain. Is there a problem?"

"Yes, you could say that. Captain Trevelli was murdered ten days ago. I was wondering, could you please come down to the station to make a statement for us...?"

Kerrin hung up.

\--------------------

"Hello, Mrs Roberts, this is Kerrin Graham. We met a few days ago when I came to your house to talk about Henry?"

"Oh yes. How are you? Do you want to ask me some more questions?"

"Just one. I know your husband worked from home a lot. I was wondering if there was a possibility that your husband might have had some information on his computer that could help me in understanding why he died."

"You may be right. Unfortunately if you want to look at the computer you will have to talk to the police department. About a week ago, one of their officers came and took away the PC and the laptop he used to take with him on business trips."

"Can you remember the name of the police officer, or can you tell me how I may get in contact with him?"

"Certainly, the officer was very polite, and he left me his card. I'll just go and get it..."

Mrs Roberts returned two minutes later.

"Captain Trevelli. That was his name. Would you like his number?"

"No. Thank you Mrs Roberts. That won't be necessary. I already have it."

Fifteen minutes and two more phone calls was all it took to find out that Captain Trevelli had also paid a visit to the widow of Tom Calvert and the sister of Sam Cohen. The annoying thing was that Trevelli, whoever he really was, had only just visited Ms Cohen last night. That meant that the computer had still been there when Kerrin had been talking to his sister! If he hadn't been so caught up in the tales of Sam's love life, he might have had the presence of mind to ask the question yesterday, not the next day when it was too late.

The description that Sam's sister had given of the Captain was too generic to be of any use. A police captain dressed in uniform. Polite. Dark hair. Italian looking. It could be any one of a thousand police officers in Miami.

Kerrin could kick himself. From now on he had to stay focused. This was no longer a game. People were dying all around him.

Kerrin had to find Alex Swinton fast. Before Captain Trevelli's namesake did.

Of course there was one other widow that 'Captain Trevelli' would not yet have had the opportunity to visit: his sister. She had not returned home after her husband's accident.

He glanced at his watch. It was 11.45 a.m. It was probably already too late to make the flight to Washington. He would have to put it off for another day.

He had better call his wife, to stop her driving out to the airport to pick him up.

He dialled her number.

The phone rang. There was no answer.

He redialled the number. She should be home. He had already called her first thing that morning and when he had spoken to her, she'd had no plans to go out.

Still no answer. He hung up.

What should he do? What if something had happened? He suddenly remembered the vision of the blue Mazda tailing him in his car's rear-view mirror, and a surge of panic passed through him. Had Captain Trevelli's friends got to his wife?

He dialled the number again, doing a quick calculation in his mind to see if he would still have time to get to the airport to get the Washington flight home. Yes, he might just make it if he really hurried.

"Hello darling. Did you just call me a minute ago? Sorry, I was outside in the garden..."

"Thank God!" Kerrin made no attempt at hiding his relief.

"Why? What's the matter?"

"Nothing...nothing. It's okay. Just overreacting. Listen, I'm sorry. I'm not going to make the 1 o'clock flight after all. I think I need to go over to Elizabeth's house."

"Okay, that's fine. But please try to make it home tomorrow...you know we're meant to be going to dinner with the Petersons tomorrow? Oh, by the way, Elizabeth called this morning. Wanted to know what you were up to and if you'd made any progress. She sounded a lot better..."

"I'll call her now. Are you okay?"

"Yes. Fine,...don't worry about me. But just make sure you're back tomorrow!"

Kerrin knew that his sister was trying to reach him. His cell phone told him she had called him three times so far, while he was on the phone to the others but he had not yet got round to calling her back. He dialled her cell-phone number.

"Hey Sis! How are things going?"

"Oh...as good as can be expected I suppose. The weather here in Arizona is fantastic. And there is so much to do here on the ranch. It's keeping us all occupied. But the children have taken it very hard. I try my best to console them, but I don't think they understand yet...I don't think I do either. We all miss Martin. Anyway,...how's everything going with your investigation?" Elizabeth asked.

"Interesting. Very interesting."

"Listen Kerrin, don't do anything stupid, will you? Promise me? I've already lost Martin...I couldn't bear to lose you too!"

"Don't worry. I'm a big boy now. Elizabeth, I would like to go round to your house and have a look at Martin's computer. Would you mind?"

"No. Not at all. Do you still have your keys?"

"Yes."

"Okay, but I'll need to tell you the security code so you can disable the alarm on the way in the door. Don't forget...otherwise you'll have half the Orlando police force on your back."

"Did Martin have a safe-place where he might keep any private files or personal CD's, ...or back-up hard-drives or memory sticks for his computer?"

"Yes. In his office he had a book on the bookshelf that looked as if it was leather bound, but was really hollow on the inside with a metal box hidden inside the cover. It's on the third shelf up beside the window."

"What's the book called?"

" 'A Golden Collection of Shakespearean Tragedies.' It's quite thick with a red cover. And the spare key to Martin's study will be with the others in the usual place." Kerrin knew where that was. It was inside the large green vase beside the television. That's also where they kept the spare car keys.

They chatted for a while, Kerrin took a note of the security code to disable the house alarm, and then said goodbye. He promised to call her again later that night.

It was a long drive back up to Orlando. This was the third time he had made the trip in as many days. The sunny mood that he'd been in a few days ago had evaporated, and he had lost interest in sightseeing along the coastal route. He took I-95, the Interstate freeway, hoping to get there as soon as possible.

Martin and Elizabeth's house was in the small suburb of Angelsea, south of the city. A large house, impressive yet not over the top. Since they had moved to Washington, Kerrin and Dana had spent many happy days there, visiting his sister's family as often as they could. It would be strange going there by himself this time, the first member of his family to go into the house since Martin had died.

He wasn't looking forward to it.

Kerrin kept both of Elizabeth's house keys on his key fob. He let himself in through the front door, and hurried into the hallway, quickly typing in the six digit security code into the alarm's control panel. Thankfully he had got it right, and the flashing light turned a constant green. He turned round and gently closed the door behind him, putting the pile of mail he had brought up from the mailbox onto the table in the lobby.

Unlike the other times Kerrin had been visiting, when the sound of screaming children, conversation and loud music had filled the house with life, this time it was uncomfortably quiet.

Walking through the rooms, stopping to reach down inside the long dried willow grass and pick up the study key from inside the green vase, he could feel the presence of his brother-in-law all around him. Martin had been a good, strong man, and an excellent father. His sister had been lucky to find him.

Martin's study was at the back of the house, facing the indoor swimming pool. He used to sit there at his computer, watching his children and wife swimming in the pool through an internal window he had had especially knocked through the wall.

The water in the pool looked inviting as Kerrin slipped past it into the study. Perhaps he would take a dip afterwards.

He stopped in his tracks.

The door to the study was wide open, having been visibly forced. He reached for the gun in the holster underneath his arm. Perhaps the intruder could still be inside the room! He couldn't take any chances.

He quietly kicked off his shoes so that his footsteps wouldn't give him away on the marble surrounds to the swimming pool, and stepped slowly forward.

He reached the door to the study, and with a single deep breath, he stepped swiftly into the room, his gun outstretched and searching, looking for a target.

Thankfully, there was none to be found. The room was empty.

Empty as in 'no intruder', but also empty as in 'no computer.'

Somebody had beaten him to it.

He looked around at the bookshelf beside the window. None of the other books had been disturbed but on the third shelf there was a gap in the tightly packed row where a single book was missing. A gap where until recently Kerrin knew there would probably have been a copy of Shakespearean tragedies.

Kerrin felt a chill run down his spine. Whoever had got into the house had known both the security codes for the house alarm, and where Martin had kept his secret box. It had to be either a very close friend of the family, or someone who must have intercepted the phone conversation between Kerrin and his sister that morning!

Whoever it was, they had also known where Martin and his sister had lived. They must have come and gone very recently, probably within the past few hours. He checked the rest of the house, making sure all the other doors were still closed and the windows locked. Everything was fine.

As far as he could see, nothing else had been taken and the rest of the house looked completely untouched. That meant that the person who'd let themselves into the house had been a true professional. He or she hadn't been tempted by the obvious valuables lying around the house, only in completing a specific task: taking the computer and the computer disks.

He sat down in one of the large chairs in the living room. What should he do now?

He debated going to the police to report the theft, but then wondered what help that would bring. The police must know by now that the suicides had been murders, but in spite of that, they had closed the investigations, and mislaid the files. Whoever had persuaded the police to ignore the suicides, would make sure this got a similar treatment.

As he lay back on the sofa going over everything in his mind and wondering what his next move should be, a blanket of exhaustion overtook him, and he fell into a deep sleep.

He was woken a few hours later, the loud ringing of a telephone very close to his head ripping him out of his dreams and thrusting him back into the world of questions that had become his life in the past week. He struggled to open his eyes, for a second not remembering where he was or how he had got there.

The phone stopped ringing and the answering machine kicked in. It was Martin's voice.

"Hi! We're not in just now. Could you leave a message please and either Elizabeth or myself will get back to you! Bye."

Kerrin could hear the person at the other end of the phone hesitate for a few seconds, obviously wondering whether or not to leave a message.

"...Hi, Martin, it's Alex...I was just wondering if you're okay..."

Kerrin lunged for the phone, knocking the phone off the table as he did so, then fighting with it on the floor, and trying to grasp the handset and untangle it from the cable.

"Hi... Hi Alex,...DON'T HANG UP! It's Kerrin! Martin's brother-in-law! You know me! We met a few weeks ago!"

The voice on the other end of the line stopped talking in mid sentence.

"Don't hang up," Kerrin shouted. "Martin's dead and I need to talk to you!"

Silence.

"Alex, I hope you're listening to me. I'm a friend. I know you are scared and probably don't want to talk to anyone, but I need to talk to you... We can't speak on this line. It's probably bugged...but don't hang up. I have an idea. Follow my instructions... I want you to think of the place we met a few weeks ago. Remember the name of the place...Take the first part of the name and remember it. Now I want you to go into an internet café and create yourself a hotmail email account and sign onto the messenger service, so that we can chat online. Make your username the same as the first part of the name of the place we went to...i.e. first-name-of-place@hotmail.com. Got it? I'll get to an internet café too. In one hour from now, I'll send an email to you at that account name, and then we'll chat using the hotmail Messenger Service. We'll take it from there? Do you understand...just say yes if you do, then hang up."

The line at the other end had not yet gone dead...Kerrin knew there was somebody listening to him. He prayed that person would acknowledge him with a 'yes'. The few seconds seemed like an age, but eventually the man at the other end grunted a 'yes', then hung up. So far so good.

Now all Kerrin had to do was find an internet café within the next hour.

Actually, it wasn't as difficult as he first thought it was going to be. As he drove down I-95, he passed a big mall, which he guessed would be quite a good place to look for one. He pulled into the parking lot, and walked inside. Sure enough, on the second floor, just opposite Gap for Kids there was a little trendy café that sold a million different types of coffee and internet connection by the minute.

Within a few minutes Kerrin had created himself his own new email identity, 'QuestionsMan@hotmail.com', and had sent an email to Alex, wherever he was. He just hoped that Alex had been able to remember that the name of the golf club where they had played only a few weeks ago under such different circumstances was called Duddingston Gardens Golf Club. Just in case, he sent emails to three different addresses: Duddingston@hotmail.com, DuddingstonGardens@hotmail.com and DuddingstonGardensGolfClub@hotmail.com. Hopefully, if Alex had really understood his instructions, at least one of the emails would get to him.

Kerrin then signed onto the Messenger service offered by Hotmail and MSN, and created three buddy aliases under the three email ids Duddingston, DuddingstonGardens and DuddingstonGardensGolfClub. Hopefully, if Alex was online and had signed onto Messenger under any of these id's he would be able to see him.

He only had to wait ten minutes. A little message popped up into one of the MSN messenger boxes to tell him that his 'buddy' was online.

Kerrin immediately sent him a message back.

"Alex, Hi! It's Kerrin. Please prove your identity. Who won the day we first met?"

Two seconds later a message box popped up on his own screen.

"Hi Kerrin. Martin did. What happened to him? And why were you in his house?"

From that point a barrage of short messages flowed back and forth across the internet between them.

"I was there to pick something up. Martin tried to escape from America. His Lear Jet blew up in mid-air en route to the Bahamas. Do you think it was suicide like the rest?"

"Like hell it was. None of them were..."

"Where are you, Alex?"

"How can I trust you?"

"You can't. But who says I can trust you either. You're the only one left alive? Did you kill the others?"

"Fair point. And no I didn't. Forgive the precautions, but if you are who you say you are, then you can ask your sister's son a question. Ask her to tell you where I went on vacation last year! Her son kept the postcard. The postcard comes from the town where I am now...find the postcard...find the town...and find the entrance to the place mentioned on the postcard. I will meet you there at 2 p.m. in five days from now. Come alone."

"Okay..."

Kerrin waited for a response but there was none. A message popped up on his Buddy List saying that Duddingston had signed off.

He paid the spotty teenager behind the bar for his thirty minutes of online time, then walked through the mall, trying to find a shop that sold pre-paid cell phones. The phone he already had was obviously bugged, and he had to stop using it.

He found a shop near the entrance, paid for a phone in cash, and left the mall. Inside his car he called the business office at his sister's ranch, and asked the office manager to transfer him to Elizabeth, who was a guest in the main house. When she eventually came on the phone, he apologised for the skullduggery, and explained that her cell phone may be bugged. Then he asked her about the postcard.

"Yeah, Danny loved it. It was from South Africa, some windsurfing place...hang on a second I'll get him..."

There was a few minutes silence, then the next voice that spoke was Martin's son. His voice had lost the excitement it normally had. There was no joy there. Only sorrow.

"Uncle Kerrin? Hi..."

"Hi Danny. How are you?" Stupid question.

He could hear the boy fighting back the tears.

"Can I ask you something Danny...it's important. Last year, one of your dad's friends sent you a postcard...from South Africa?"

"Uncle Alex? Yes...it's an ace card..." The little boy's voice had livened up a bit.

"That's the one. Do you still have it... I need to take a look at it...it's important."

"Yes, I do...Why do you want to see it? "

"I can't tell you...but it'll help me find out why your father died."

The boy at the other end thought for a moment.

"Okay, but it's in my secret place...with my secret stuff. If I tell you, you have to promise not to tell anyone else, and you have to promise...make me a double promise that you won't look at anything else there, and that you won't read my diary...? Promise?"

"Absolutely. I double promise you Danny. And I won't tell anyone about where your special place is. Especially your sister. Okay?"

"...Okay. Do you know where..." And Danny told Kerrin where all his childhood secrets were kept.

Twenty minutes later, Kerrin slipped the postcard out of a cardboard box hidden underneath a loose floorboard in Danny's bedroom. Before he put the lid back on the box, he dropped three twenty dollar bills into the box and smiled. Danny was a good kid.

The postcard was split into two separate photographs juxtapositioned against each other. In the bottom left picture was a long, sandy bay, with rolling surf crashing onto the beach. Two windsurfers were in the photo, one surfing a wave on a board with a tall yellow sail, and the other flying upside down above the surf, caught by the camera in the middle of doing a jump.

The other picture showed a long, blue stretch of water covered by Windsurfers.

Along the bottom of the picture were the words, 'Langebaan Bay, South Africa.'

Chapter 15

Day Twelve

New York

His office on the sixty-third floor of the Rohloff Tower building looked out over the water towards Staten Island. The view, as Rupert Rohloff had once described it to his mistress, was 'truly exceptional.' And it was. Rupert never failed to lose interest in the view of the world outside. From here he could see the merchant ships arriving in the harbour, bringing their goods to America from every corner of the globe; tourists flocking to the Statue of Liberty on the pleasure craft that brought them to see the greatest symbol of freedom in the world, and the ocean liners arriving and disgorging their cargos of rich playboys, excited about arriving in the best city in the world.

Rupert Rohloff loved America. Only in the United States could he have arrived as a poor student thirty years ago, armed only with a degree in Electronic Engineering and a will to succeed, and turned his dream into a reality that spanned every state of the country, and overflowed into Europe and beyond. Rohloff Enterprises Worldwide was one of the most powerful conglomerates on the planet. The companies hidden under the banner of Rohloff Enterprises had interests which spanned electronics, computers, networking, telecommunications, semi-conductors, health-physics, bio-medicine, genetics, and most recently bio-science. In the past three years during the collapse of the stock market which accompanied the dot.com technology crisis, an aggressive campaign of acquisitions had brought many household names under the control of his holding-companies. Yet, he preferred to keep the extent of his wealth and power a well-protected secret.

Rupert Rohloff was not a vain man. It mattered not to him that people did not understand the true scope of his power. Politically, it was often more prudent that way. Economically, it made things much easier.

Rohloff Enterprises Worldwide was a private company. There were very few shareholders. Rupert Rohloff himself owned 78% of the stock. That made him the undisputed owner, CEO and boss of over three hundred thousand people in the world.

Yet, if you asked the average man on the street, hardly anybody had ever heard of his name. Although, those who had, never forgot it.

Rupert Rohloff was not what you could realistically call a good looking man. He was only five foot six tall, what most women would describe as small, and he was almost completely bald. Only a few patches of brown hair still clung to the sides of his head above his ears, but they too were beginning to disappear. Rupert's brown eyes were a little too close together, and this sometimes made people a bit uncomfortable when they looked at him. His nose, broken in a fight when he was a child, had never been professionally reset and now the bridge angled down obliquely to a bent and flattened tip. His round and extended belly protruded a few inches over the edge of his trouser belt. Rupert knew that he looked a little odd, and to compensate he spent a fortune on clothes. His expensive designer suits went some way to making up for his lack of stature and good looks, but not far enough to attract woman on their own. What attracted the women was his money.

It was unfortunate for them that Rupert had little interest in women. True, he had a mistress, but he saw her only once every few weeks, and shared little or no real emotion with her. Rupert was an insular man, not able to make friends easily, and not able to establish any real bond of affection with anyone apart from his dog, Sam, a small Scottie that he took with him everywhere.

He had little time for sex or friendships. His life was his work, his goal to extend the scope and success of his company, REW, from strength to strength and to make it the largest single company within the matrix of the Chymera Corporation. His mistress was money, his aphrodisiac was power.

The green phone buzzed, and when Rupert leant across his desk and pressed the speak button, his secretary's voice came across the loudspeaker.

"I've got that call for you that you wanted, Rupert. Can you take it now?"

"Yes, put him through...and could you rustle me up some fresh coffee? Cuban? Thanks..."

There was an electronic beep, and Rupert was through.

"Nigel, it's Rupert. How are you?"

"I'm fine. What can I do for you?"

Rupert had been trying to get hold of Nigel Small for over two days. He had either been very busy, or had been evading his calls. The Phase Two trials should have just started, and Rupert wanted to know exactly how things were going.

Since the day of its incorporation, the board of Chymera had run the company more like an army than a profit making organisation. Responsibility and power within the Corporation was divided up in two ways. Firstly, according to the economic might and assets controlled by each of the board members, and secondly, according to geographical area. The territory around the globe across which the Corporation wielded power and had investments in was divided into twelve main sectors. North America, one of the main sectors, was itself further sub-divided into four cells: The Northern States and Canada, The Southern States and Mexico, and The Western and The Eastern Seaboards. That meant that in the divisional structure of the Chymera Corporation, the Gen8tyx Company based in California now came under the auspices of the Western Seaboard Cell, which was Nigel Small's authority. Rupert held overall responsibility for all four of the cells making up North America, and as such, Nigel reported directly to Rupert.

Rupert had been invited to present on the Orlando Project at the next board meeting of the Chymera Corporation in three weeks time. Before he walked into the board meeting Rupert needed to be fully briefed by Nigel, and convinced that he had no surprises up his sleeves.

"I want to know how the trial is coming along with Gen8tyx, and how the integration into Chymera is progressing. I don't want any surprises."

"I know Rupert. Please be assured that..."

"Thank you. I accept. I will be assured...and I want you in New York in two weeks time. I will expect you in my office on Wednesday 28th. At that time I will give you the whole morning, and you can 'assure me' then."

"I'll be there."

"I know you will."

\--------------------

Nigel Small was fuming. Why was Rupert Rohloff calling and chasing him up? Had someone gone above him and said something they shouldn't have? The Phase Two trials had already started and were going excellently.

Problems? Yes, there were a few, but none that he couldn't deal with. He hated relying on other people. Sonderheim had the responsibility of sorting this mess out, but he was dragging it out too long and getting nowhere. Nigel couldn't rely on him to wrap it up, and if he didn't sort it out quickly, it would look bad on him. It would be better if he took the initiative and took a few precautions of his own. After all, if there was one thing he had learned in business it was never to put all your eggs in one basket.

Nigel was CEO of Small Holdings, a utilities company and an oil distributor which was headquartered in Seattle. Their business dealt mainly with energy and water in the US, and exporting and importing oil to and from Asia. Last year his organisation had turned over $5 billion dollars. Perhaps he was still small fry in comparison to some of the others in the Chymera's Western Seaboard Cell, but he had plans. He knew where he was going. And nobody, especially Sonderheim and his mistakes, was going to hold him back.

It was time to call in a favour.

The phone rang in the office of Cheng Wung in the CIA's new southern headquarters in Tampa. Cheng saw the code flash up on the LCD display and realised that he wanted to take this call.

"Excuse me gentleman, could you please wait outside, I'm afraid I have to take this. Grab yourselves a fresh coffee...be back in five?" He explained politely to the section heads in his office. They were in the middle of a briefing for an up-and-coming sting on a huge heroin trafficking ring which had been newly uncovered in the Keys.

"Mr Small? It's good to hear from you again...it was a pleasure doing business with you before. Is this just a courtesy call, or can I be of some assistance to you again?"

"Mr Wung, I have no doubt that it was a pleasure for you the last time we did business. I'm sure that such 'assistance' is always most beneficial to you." Nigel was sarcastically referring to the $2m it had cost him, the last time he had asked for the honourable Mr Wung to indulge in a little bit of freelancing and use his government backed resources to help him out.

"Mr Small, I will not deny that your patronage is appreciated. I trust that you appreciate my help in return, otherwise you would not ask me to assist you again."

"Enough of this bullshit double entendre. When did you last have this line sweeped? Can we talk freely?"

"If my lines are not secure, then none are. "

Cheng Wung was head of the Southern Section of the CIA. He reported personally to the Director in Washington.

"Okay... I have another job for you..."

Every man has a price. Cheng's was higher than most, but since the resources at his disposal were unique, he believed his price to be fair value.

Cheng called the other section heads back into his room. While they carried on with the presentation, detailing the planning and time-scales for the sting, Cheng paid little attention to what they said and in his mind he began to plan the next extra-curricular project he would soon be carrying out with the help of Uncle Sam.

\--------------------

Sonderheim was nervous. Normally he wasn't a particularly nervous man, but he knew that this time there was more at stake than ever before.

"So what is the state of play just now?" He was talking to two other men and a woman on a conference call. "Adam, you go first."

"In the weeks before their deaths, we discovered that all of those who died had downloaded copies of the Orlando File, the main database of information which contains all the information necessary to recreate the Orlando Project. It turns out that each of them had downloaded copies of the Orlando File onto their hard drives, just as you had suspected. It goes without saying that if we're to keep the lid on this thing, we have to recover all six copies of the Orlando File before their contents are made public. "

"And, what is the progress so far?"

"Good. Very good. At this point we're pretty confident that we've now recovered all the computers, including all the personal home computers, from all six suspects. The last two to be recovered were from Alex Swinton and Martin Nicolson. We originally believed that Martin was carrying the Orlando File with him out of the country on his Lear, and hence the necessity to ensure we intercepted his flight. But to complete the operation and secure all the copies of the Orlando File in Nicolson's possession, yesterday afternoon we visited his home and removed his home PC and all his storage disks."

"And Swinton?"

"Yesterday we finally managed to find where Alex Swinton had been staying before he disappeared and we recovered a computer from the apartment. It's just arrived back at the lab this morning. And we have recovered the Orlando File from the hard-drives of all the other computers we secured."

"Good job Adam. Your section has done well. Laura, have you been able to track down the location of Alex Swinton yet?"

"Not yet. We know he was in South Africa a week ago. Our men are in South Africa now. He must be moving around. We haven't been able to find him yet, but we think he's still in the country...We're working on something at the moment. Hopefully we will have something for you soon."

"Let me know the moment anything develops."

Laura was part of the same cell as Adam, but her forte was dealing with the security agencies. Information gathering was her specialty. It helped that she worked for the FBI.

"John, what have you to offer?"

The last person on the call had remained silent throughout. The cell he led was based in the North East.

"My team is on standby. As soon as we get the authority, we are ready to go, but I believe that at this stage it would be wrong to initiate any action so close to home. As Laura pointed out on our last call, the man who had been doing the rounds of the widows is Kerrin Graham. Formerly a police officer in Miami, and now a reporter for the Washington Post. Until we know what he knows, and whom he has told it to, we cannot and should not, do anything. A reporter for one of the most powerful newspapers in the world is not someone we should underestimate..."

"Thanks John. Your point is taken. Which is why for now, we all have to leave Graham alone. But make sure your men are ready to go, as soon as I give the word!"

"However, there could be a new problem to take care of..." Laura interrupted.

"And what is that?" David asked.

"...It seems that there is a policeman in Miami asking lots of questions...I don't know why yet, but I have started my investigations."

"Okay Laura. It could be nothing...there were a number of deaths after all...or it could be something...in which case I want you to deal with it. I will trust your judgement."

Laura understood exactly what he meant.

\--------------------

F.B.I. Offices

Day Twelve

Miami

Florida

As soon as the call finished, Laura left the conference centre, and took the elevator to the 3rd Level of the underground bunker. As she stepped out of the elevator, she showed her badge to the armed security guard behind the desk, and then stepped towards the bullet proof glass doors.

She pressed her hand against the palm and finger scanner, then bent forward so that the retinal scanner could examine the back of her eyeball.

The light above the security gate flashed green, and she stepped through the doors, which opened with a characteristic 'swoosh', which always reminded her of the sound made by the elevator doors opening in the old Star Trek films.

She stepped lightly through the air-conditioned computing complex, knowing full well that through the glass partitions many male heads would be turning as she walked past. It was no accident that her white blouse opened just a little lower than it should, deliberately but somewhat erotically exposing the top of her white bra and the curves of her ample cleavage, or that she wore a smart Gucci suit that hugged her figure and showed off her incredible stocking clad legs.

She knew the power of female sexuality. She had never understood the term 'female exploitation.' She only believed in 'male exploitation.' She oozed sexuality from every pore. She made sure she did. Not surprisingly promotion had come quickly to Laura over the years. She knew what she wanted and she got it. Yet still she was bored. To satisfy her hunger for risk and adventure, she got her kicks by combining lucrative extra-curricular activities with her FBI work. They were a marriage of convenience, and a relationship which had the blessing of both her bank manager and her stockbroker.

As she entered one of the many secure surveillance rooms, one of the young computer nerds at the back of the room looked up, smiled and took the walkman off his head.

"Agent Samuels? How are you today?" the young man asked, sitting up straight, and swivelling his chair round towards her.

"Excellent Agent Rodriguez, just excellent, and you?"

Laura put her hands on a waist high filing cabinet beside the young man, and eased herself backwards up onto it, sitting down and crossing her legs slowly but carefully so that her skirt rode up and exposed a fraction too much of her thighs.

"Getting better every moment! You know, Agent Samuels, how the hell are any of us meant to get any work done, when you keep coming round...?" He asked her, his eyes quickly scanning her body so that she understood exactly what he was referring to. He may be young, and a nerd, but the young man knew how to flirt with the best of them.

"Sorry, I didn't know I had that effect on you..." Laura smiled. " So, do you think you will be able to do it or not?"

"I've done it."

"Already?"

"Sure...it wasn't exactly hard..."

"Good, I don't want to make things too hard for you..."

"...Well, you may be too late for that...," the young nerd replied, smiling back at her without blushing.

Laura ignored him. She wasn't about to be upstaged by a twenty two-year old.

"What have you got then, and how did you get it...", she said nodding her head towards the computer, indicating that he should show her.

"Okay...let's get down to business..." he said, turning to the computer screen. He minimised the application he was in, and brought up four new screens, toggling between them as he went.

"Okay, it was you who did the hard part really, Agent Samuels. Once you gave me the registration number of his car, the rest was easy. All I did was dial into the Hertz system. Hertz are really friendly, they co-operate with us on almost anything we want to do. It only took a few minutes to get his details. Look, here's the rental agreement...and here's his driving licence, complete with picture."

Laura bent forward towards the screen, the curvature of her breasts coming very close to Agent Rodriguez's head. He could smell the faint musk rising from her cleavage. Laura realised why the young man was smiling, and slapped him playfully on his head.

"Naughty boy. Show me what else you've got..."

"I will if you will...The problem was that two days ago he took his car back and swapped it for another one. That fooled me for a little bit. It was only yesterday morning, when I checked the Hertz system again that I realised what he had done. This is the new rental agreement...Okay, what I did next was put the new registration number into the main Computer Automated Vehicle Visual Recognition System, ...we call it CARS for short...anyway, as you may know, every time a vehicle passes a CARS camera on the freeway or on a street, the camera photographs the number plate, digitises it and then compares the registration with the CARS database...if there a match it sends us a message telling us where the vehicle was sighted..."

Laura was beginning to be impressed. The boy knew his stuff.

"We started tracking the new rental car he was driving in the Orlando area. After it left the address you gave me yesterday it was picked up by five different CARS cameras in the next two hours..."

Agent Rodriguez switched to another screen and a map came up.

"...Here you can see the places he was spotted..." he said, pointing to the screen.

"The interesting thing is that between the sighting here, and the sighting there, an hour had elapsed. Which means that he probably stopped the car and did something somewhere along the way.

Rodriguez closed down the map, and brought up another screen. It was a analogue tracing of a speech pattern. At the bottom of the screen there was a play button, a fast forward and rewind, and a stop button. A series of numbers at the top of the screen indicated that it was a recording of a phone conversation taken from a telephone number in one of the Orlando suburbs.

"What's this?"

"All telephone and email conversations in the US are automatically recorded. This is the telephone number of the house at the address you gave me. I took the liberty of looking at the calls that were made to and from that number yesterday. There were no outgoing calls all day...maybe the people are away on holiday or something...or at least I thought so until in the afternoon one of the incoming phone calls was answered. This is the conversation..."

He hit the play button, and Laura could hear the conversation that had taken place the day before between Kerrin and Alex Swinton, the suspect they were looking for.

"Okay, so you'll notice he said that he would email him in an hour from then? Right? Okay, so if you look back at the map, you'll see that he was somewhere between here and there during that time...right...now he could have been dialling into the internet from a laptop with a cell phone, or from a smartphone or tablet with wireless, ...or from an Internet Café. I monitored his cell phone number, there were no more calls, so it wasn't a laptop or a handheld. Just out of interest, I took the zip code of that part of town, and cross-referenced it against the business directory for Orlando...Bingo...Three internet cafés in that area."

Laura smiled.

"So, using this little piece of code..." Rodriguez flicked to another screen,"...I entered the details and the Calling Line Identities of the internet cafés into my network probes and sniffers...sorry, am I going too fast?...The CLI is basically the telephone number from where the dial-up modems call when dialling into the internet, and probes are just complicated devices that listen to all the internet traffic and break it down into its component data packets...they can identify things like destination and source email addresses, and source and destination telephone numbers where the dial-up or broadband DSL modems are connected to...okay?...good. Well, the probes help us keep records of all the internet messages and emails that are sent...And through a combination of looking at the signals stored on the probes, sniffers, and the large database which stores all the internet traffic going to and from the US for the past month, what we shall see next are all the messages and emails that were sent during the next two hours coming from the three internet cafés we looked at..."

A screen came up showing three separate boxes, each containing a list of the titles of the emails and messages that were sent from those internet cafés.

"The next thing was to run a little program to look at the text of the messages from the three cafes, to try and identify any source words we cared to include. I chose the names of the people we were looking for...'Alex'...'Swinton'...'Kerrin'...'Graham'...and other words like 'Gen8tyx' and 'Genetics' etc..."

'And this is what we got...' Agent Rodriguez proudly displayed a new list of messages and emails, all coming from the same, single, internet café.

"What you can see here is internet chat...these are the messages that were sent back and forward between Graham and Swinton. These guys are quite clued up...refusing to talk on the phone and using the internet instead was a really smart move...there's no way we would have been able to eavesdrop on them if we hadn't got a good idea which CLI numbers Graham was using."

Laura wasn't listening to him. She was more interested in the messages displayed on the screen. The last one was of particular interest:

"Fair point. And no I didn't. Forgive the precautions, but if you are who you say you are, then you can ask your sister's son a question. Ask her to tell you where I went on vacation last year? Her son kept the postcard. The postcard comes from the town where I am now...find the postcard...find the town...and find the entrance to the place mentioned on the postcard...I will meet you there at 2 p.m. in five days from now. Come alone."

When she had read it, she pointed to the screen and asked Rodriguez,

"Can you identify where Alex sent the message from?"

"Sure can..." he replied, while bringing the image of another map onto the screen.

"Alex is using Messenger to communicate with Kerrin across the Internet, but he's logged onto the Internet using a dial-up connection. I've tracked the CLI number of the call to an internet café near Langebaan. It's a windsurfer's paradise in South Africa, near Cape Town. They're still using a dial-up connection and don't have broadband yet. It's probably somewhere in the middle of nowhere."

It made sense. The last place they had been able to track Alex to was the town of Wilderness, a windsurfers hangout too. Alex Swinton must be a keen windsurfer.

She turned to Agent Rodriguez..

"Can you print the email messages out for me, and give me a copy of the map. Also, keep an eye-out to see if Alex sends any more emails from that café. The moment you get anything, let me know. Can you put all of this into a proper report format, and send it to me later today?"

"Sure thing."

"Thanks. You've done great!"

She stood up, and leant forward, kissing him playfully on top of his head, then she ruffled his hair with her right hand, smiled and left.

Agent Rodriguez watched Laura as she walked down the corridor, following the sexy to and fro of her hips, and thinking the same thoughts as all the other men whose gaze followed after her.

Perhaps one day...just perhaps...

\--------------------

As Laura rode the elevator back up to her office she quickly calculated her next move. Alex Swinton was in South Africa. He would be meeting Kerrin Graham somewhere in Langebaan in four days time. They had to get to him before Graham, i.e. the Washington Post, managed to talk to him first.

In other words, they had four days to get down there, find him, and kill him.

Chapter 16

Day Twelve

Miami

"So why are you calling me from a payphone? Have you lost your cell phone?...And why are you still in Miami? Are we never going to be able to get rid of you?" James 'IceBreaker' Callaghan asked, jokingly.

"My cell phone is being tapped. Probably the people who were following me in the blue Mazda. I'm flying back to Washington tomorrow morning. I was wondering if you'd had any luck in your investigations?"

"Yes. We need to talk...How about Hooters in half an hour? I'm just getting off work, and I could do with a large cold one."

Hooters was heaving. Friday night, and the weekend had begun. When Kerrin got there, James was already at the back of the bar, a large pitcher of beer sitting in front of him, two large glasses already poured.

"So what have you got then?" Kerrin asked, shaking James hand. It was good to see a friendly face.

"You're not going to like it...it's interesting though. First of all, you'll find some information in here on your guy David Sonderheim, including a copy of his driving licence. Next, here are all the telephone numbers of all the calls dialled and received from Henry Robert's house. There's a lot of Washington and Californian numbers there. And there are a few from New York."

James slid a clear see-through plastic folder across the table. Kerrin pulled out the contents and started to scan the list of numbers on the paper.

"His wife told you that the night he died, Henry had received a call from the office asking him to come in? Well, according to the phone records, no he didn't. Old Henry was telling porkies."

"So who called him then?"

"At 9.30 p.m. that night a call was picked up at the house, maybe by Henry or his wife. But the call came from the private home number of David Sonderheim."

"That doesn't surprise me..."

"...But shortly afterwards another call came in...from the private cell phone number of Alex Swinton...the only one in your group who is maybe still alive now, right?"

Kerrin looked up. That was even more interesting.

"So who did Henry go to visit? Was it Alex or David? If either of them..."

"I don't know. But whoever it was, they probably killed him. It makes you think though...maybe Alex is the man we're looking for. He killed the rest of the team, and then took off!"

"It's something we can't discount. You said 'killed', did you speak to the coroner?"

"Yes, and this is the thing, the new tests the coroner ran show that Henry was definitely murdered. It wasn't suicide. Shit, Kerrin, this is heavy stuff...what are we getting ourselves into here?"

"We're not getting ourselves 'into' anything. We're already in it. Tell me what happened with the coroner?"

"Okay, so I call the guy up, naturally telling him it's on police business. I ask him if an autopsy was carried out on the Robert's body, and if it was still in the morgue. Yes, and yes. But the coroner says it was clearly a heart attack. I ask if there was any possibility that the heart attack could have been induced. He says that that could happen...that there was a whole number of ways that it could be done."

"...I ask him if he could run some basic toxicology tests to see if there are any signs of poison in his system. He said it would normally take a while, but since there was a shortage of bodies for him to cut up, he could start straight away: apparently the department was going through a bit of a quiet spell at just then!...What sort of man gets his kicks out of cutting somebody else up? Never could figure these guys out..."

"...Anyway, he called me back about three hours ago...says he got something on the very first run..."

"What was it?" Kerrin asked.

"I can't remember...I wrote it down somewhere...he's sending the file over to me tomorrow. But basically he said it was some type of muscle relaxant...he found an injection mark between his toes. where someone had pumped him full of the stuff. The guy's body stopped responding to his brain commands...he stops breathing, and dies...at first glance it looks just like a heart-attack."

"So what do we do now?"

"Not much. I can't really do anything without the Feds starting to ask questions about what I'm doing. And I can't tell my boss what I've done, or he'll want to know why I'm running around the place playing games with you. Looks like that information has to remain between the two of us for now."

"Okay..." Kerrin agreed.

"Fact is Kerrin, these guys are serious, whoever they are. It takes a lot of nerve to walk into a hospital and kill someone in cold blood. They knew what they were doing...they've got to be professionals...Someone with a lot of clout has got to be behind this. Someone with connections in the FBI, and who can get files to disappear in police stations...someone who can manipulate the police to their own end. Who else could get the police to close an investigation into what is so obviously a series of murders, and cover them up as being suicides? No, there's some weird shit going down here. And we've got to start watching our backs..."

\--------------------

Laura sat in her car outside the bar. One of her men had tailed Captain Callaghan to 'Hooters'. Not one of her FBI men, but one of the external secret team she had built up over the years to help carry out her extra-curricular activities.

She had done some investigating and found out that the man they were trailing was working independently which was the best news she'd had all day. The questions he had been asking were not part of any authorised official police investigation and the new autopsy on Henry Robert's body at the hospital had not been authorised either.

Her group hadn't been involved in the Orlando murders. That had been down to John's group from the North East Sector. He had flown down a couple of his men to do the job. They had fucked up, not her. If it had been down to her, the man Alex Swinton would never have escaped in the first place.

Exactly why David Sonderheim wanted all these people dead, she did not know. All she knew was that Sonderheim was part of Chymera, and that she was part of the Security Division at Chymera. In effect, they were work colleagues.

Chymera had recruited her over three years ago, and since then it had proved to be a very fruitful relationship indeed. The kind of fruitful that had put $1m dollars in her account. But it wasn't all about the money...She enjoyed being part of something big, part of the bigger picture.

Her cell phone buzzed, and she picked it up from the passenger seat beside her.

"They're leaving. What do you want us to do?"

It was one of her men parked in the van nearest the entrance to the bar.

"Hold tight for just now. We'll see what they do next."

As she watched, the policeman came out of the club with the other man, whom she now knew to be Kerrin Graham. She had watched him go into the club a few hours ago, and it had immediately put the other piece in the jigsaw puzzle. Captain Callaghan was somehow working with Kerrin Graham.

The temptation was to get rid of both of them then and there. Otherwise Laura might just bump into Graham in South Africa in a few days time. Unfortunately, she couldn't. Sonderheim's orders had been quite specific. They had to leave him alone, until they could find out what he knew, and if he was working alone or in a team.

At the bottom of the steps in front of the entrance to the bar, the two men shook hands, separated, then walked towards their own cars.

She picked up the cell phone.

"Let them go. We'll proceed as planned. It'll be better that way."

\--------------------

Day Thirteen

The next morning James and his partner were driving round the suburbs of Miami as they did every normal day. They made a few circuits of the neighbourhood, stopping to talk to some characters they knew, and checking with the locals what was going on in the vicinity. Then they stopped to pick up some strong fresh coffee at the local deli, just as they did every time they went out on patrol.

As they were driving around the block from the deli, the radio buzzed, and James responded.

"Car 282, over. "

"Robbery going down at Daniels Pawn Shop on 28th Street. Please attend."

"Roger. We're only one block away."

Two minutes later, sirens blaring and lights flashing, they pulled up in front of the Pawn Shop.

Covering each other, they quickly entered the premises. It was dark inside, and it took a few minutes for their eyes to adjust to the lack of light. Regrettably, if they had been able to see straight away they would have realised that the pawnbroker was already dead, his body lying behind the counter where he had fallen.

They would also have seen the two men with black hoods and black overalls, standing just inside the door, shotguns raised and pointing straight at them.

The impact of the shotguns at such short range blew both of the policemen back out of the door and into the street. Both were dead before they hit the sidewalk.

The two men in the black overalls ran out after them, deliberately spilling most of their stolen money over the bodies, and leaving it lying scattered in the street. A red car swept around the corner, screeching to a halt in front of them. The two men jumped in, and the car accelerated away.

In a second they were gone, leaving behind them two bodies sprawled across the sidewalk, their blood forming a pool which spilled over the edge of the kerb and began to run down the gutter into the nearest drain.

Chapter 17

Day Thirteen

The Gen8tyx Company

Purlington Bay

California

The hospital wing attached to the back of the main section of the building offered the most advanced modern medical facilities available. No expense had been spared on providing whatever Sonderheim and his medical team had needed.

The sixty individual hospital rooms were more like luxury apartments, providing the ultimate in comfort for those who would be attending the clinic. Sonderheim and his team of doctors and nurses would be paying host to some of the most influential people in America, and it was going to be their duty to provide the best medical care available. In fact, the 'Orlando Clinic', as he had christened the hospital, was the only place this treatment was going to be available.

Phase Two of the trials of the Orlando Treatment had just begun and they were now three days into the schedule. Already there were some signs that the patients were beginning to respond, something which they had not anticipated so soon.

Unfortunately, there had been one death, but it had been unavoidable. The patient in question was already in the final stages of lung cancer when he had arrived at the clinic, and he could hardly breathe: it had only been a matter of time. Unfortunately the treatment had been too late to save him.

Trevor Simons and Colonel Packard, the two most important patients to be treated in Phase Two, were thankfully also amongst those who were being the most responsive to the treatment. Both were important executive directors in the Chymera Corporation, and strategically it was important that both experienced impressive results from the trials.

Their rooms were on the third floor of the clinic, with the best views overlooking the bay. Sonderheim had personally made sure that everything about their treatment received the best attention and focus.

In spite of the personal animosity that he had immediately felt towards Trevor Simons, Sonderheim could not help but marvel at his determination and bravery, and at the progress he was making. It had taken a lot of courage for Simons to abandon the conventional treatment he had been undergoing in Los Angeles, and agree to participate in the programme. Sonderheim knew that the man was a gambler, and had taken enormous risks throughout his life. Well, it looked like this was one gamble that was going to pay off.

When Simons had first arrived at the clinic, they had put him through a number of physical and medical examinations, to ensure they could chart his progress at every stage of the procedure. The journey down to Purlington Bay had taken a lot more out of him than Simons had admitted. It was typical of the man not to tell anyone that he was in the final stages of leukaemia. His T-cell blood count could drop through the floor at any moment, and he could be dead within twenty four hours. Regardless of the risk, Simons had come to Sonderheim's clinic in the hope of demonstrating some sort of cure.

David Sonderheim had explained at length to Nigel Small, the director of the Western Seaboard Cell, who would possibly benefit from the Orlando Treatment. They knew that the Orlando Treatment worked. The only question they had, was how well?

He had explained clearly that leukaemia was not one of the conditions that the treatment had been designed to treat. That said, he had also confessed that there was a good possibility that the disease could respond to their new procedure...but, in reality, he just didn't know.

The fact was that the effects of the Orlando Treatment went far beyond everything they had initially predicted. Just how far, they didn't know. And that was exactly why these trials were so important.

They needed to know. They needed to find out.

\--------------------

Day Thirteen

Washington D.C.

She waved at him excitedly as he walked through into the Arrivals Hall at the airport. As soon as she spotted him she spun her wheelchair around and rolled it towards him.

"Dana...Hi!" Kerrin bent down towards her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and hugging his wife passionately. "I told you not to bother...I said I'd catch a taxi!"

"Sshhh...I missed you..." And she threw him one of her fantastic smiles. He couldn't bring himself to be angry with her. Truth was, he loved it that she had made all that effort to come to meet him.

He kissed her once more, and putting his small suitcase across the lap of her wheelchair, he pushed her out to the parking lot. Kerrin helped her into the passenger side of the car, and then switched over the especially designed controls to 'normal' driving. The disabled controls on the car had been a godsend for Dana, enabling her to drive the automatic car safely, and just as well as any other person.

"Darling...you look stressed. And you've lost some weight! Tell me what's going on?" Dana asked Kerrin as they drove back from the airport to the suburb where they lived, on the outskirts of Washington D.C.

He wanted to tell her everything, but he wondered if he should. He didn't want to worry her unduly, and until he knew more about what was going on, perhaps he should keep it to himself.

But how was he going to tell her that now he had just got back, that he would be leaving to go to South Africa the very next day? He would leave that one for a few hours. It would be best to choose the right moment...if there was one for something like that.

He knew she would be disappointed. South Africa was the place that they had always planned to visit together. It was their dream destination. Dana loved animals, and she had spent most of her adult life planning to go on safari, 'hunting' the Big Five with a camera and a pair of binoculars, and sleeping out under the stars on warm, summer nights.

Then Dana's accident had temporarily put a halt to their dream. Afterwards they had promised themselves that they would still go together, but somehow, although they knew they would be able to cope, they just never got round to booking the trip. The wheelchair had taken away the spontaneity which had once made life so much fun for them.

"Oh, by the way, your big friendly boss called. Wants you to check in with him as soon as you get back. Told me to tell you that you still worked for him,...just in case you forgot! Oh...and he wants to know who's paying for your tickets to Cape Town tomorrow,...and why you're going?"

"Oops..."

"Exactly. Care to explain, Mr Husband-of-mine?"

"Where do I begin?"

"The beginning?...It's usually the best place."

"Can you remember Alex Swinton? A friend and work colleague of Martin's?"

"Vaguely..."

"Well, out of all of the core team that Martin worked with, Alex is the only one left alive. He's in South Africa. I need to get to him and tell him about the others...and to warn him that whoever killed the others will be after him too. Dana, I need to speak to him: he could be the only person alive who knows why Martin and the others died!"

"But South Africa is our special place......" Dana choked for a second, and Kerrin noticed her visibly fighting to regain her composure. "No...forget that...that's just being childish. Okay, so I can see why you have to go, but if he's the only person left alive from that group, has it not occurred to you and that little brain of yours that perhaps he's the one that killed the others, and that's maybe why he's in hiding?"

Kerrin looked at his wife, taking his eyes off the road ahead for just a second.

"You're the second person to say that in twenty four hours. Maybe you're right...but I've got no choice. I'm pretty sure he didn't do it though. Elizabeth said he and Martin were good friends,...I don't believe that Alex could have killed him."

"Aha! So you're pretty sure that Martin was killed then, and that it wasn't just an accident?"

His wife didn't miss a trick. It was obvious, that despite his misgivings, the easiest thing was going to be to tell her everything. Otherwise it would probably all just come out in dribs-and-drabs anyway. So he started to tell her exactly what had happened over the past week. They were just pulling up into their driveway when he finished. Dana had remained pretty silent throughout, but as Kerrin switched off the car and turned to face her, she whistled.

"Wow...are you sure you're not just making this all up? Because if you're not, this would make a brilliant book. Maybe when it's all done, you could write a bestseller, and we can retire! If you're still alive, that is." A tear grew in the corner of her eye and started to roll down her cheek.

"Kerrin, I'm scared. Promise me you'll be careful?"

"Yes, I promise."

He leant over to her, and gently kissed her cheek, catching her salty tear on the edge of his lips.

"And when it's all over...I promise I'll take you to South Africa, just as we've always planned."

Dana had a point though. The whole thing was just beginning to sound like the plot to a best-selling thriller. If only he could just flick to the last chapter and find out who'd done it. Instead, he was going to jump on a plane and fly half way round the world to meet someone who could very well be the killer who had just murdered all his work-colleagues and could somehow be responsible for the death of Kerrin's own brother-in-law. In which case, Kerrin could end up just as dead as the others, and Dana would become just another widow with a nice house.

It didn't bear thinking about it.

\--------------------

"So what's the deal, pal? I hear South Africa is beautiful this time of the year? Should I come too, or would I just be intruding on your holidays?" Paul, Kerrin's boss bellowed down the phone. It was seven o'clock in the evening, and Kerrin was half hoping that by the time he called, his boss would have gone home and he would have been able to just leave a voice message. No such luck.

"Sure. If you want to. And if you don't mind a little bit of danger. I could do with a man of your great experience, and girth, to act as a body shield from any stray bullets that may come my way."

Kerrin knew that although his boss was a tiger in the newspaper office, in spite of his harsh words and aggressive business style, in the world outside his office door he was really a closet coward.

"Perhaps not then...Can't leave the office and all that! But seriously pal, what the hell is going on? Vicki brought in a pile of invoices to sign, and top of the list is a business class flight down to Cape Town! Is there any particular reason why you're going to South Africa?"

"Paul, suffice it to say there are several. But, and I'm not kidding when I say this...I can't talk to you over the phone...I think it's bugged." He said, half in truth, and half as an excuse not to talk to him just now.

"Well, how about stopping by the office tomorrow morning and explaining to me why I should pay for all of this?"

"Sorry boss, no-can-do. First flight out and all that...just no time...Trust me on this one. Something strange is going down...I'll make it worth your while!"

"Trust you? You're a newspaper man. I can't trust you! Okay kiddo, enjoy yourself in Nelson-Mandela-land, but go easy on the champagne...and it would be nice to see some decent copy from this one day. For what this is costing me, it had better be front page stuff!"

"How's Ed Harper doing with my work?" Kerrin asked, but immediately wished he hadn't.

"Brilliantly. The guy's good. He could be a little competition for you. If I were you I'd make sure this thing you're working on is great stuff...just in case..."

"I'm glad he's doing so well. The paper needs good people."

"Like you, I suppose?"

"Exactly. And while we're talking about good people Paul, can you pop your head round your door and see if Fiona is still there? I need her to do some stuff for me."

Fiona was one of the researchers at the paper, who had helped Kerrin out in the past by chasing down material for some of his articles. There was a few moments silence before his boss returned to the phone.

"She's still here. I'll transfer you. Take it easy, Kerrin, And if there is anything dangerous happening down there, just make sure you get back in one piece...I can't afford any insurance or liability claims, okay?"

"...And for a second I thought you cared," Kerrin replied, smiling.

There was the sound of electronic pulses down the line, as Paul redialled and transferred his call to Fiona.

"Kerrin? Long time no see. How's tricks?" Fiona bubbled. She was one of the liveliest people in the office.

"Excellent. Listen, I need you to do a few things for me over the next few days. I'll be out of the office till next week, but it would be great if you could give me some of your time to help track down some information?"

"Sure thing. What sort of stuff are you after?" Kerrin could already hear her gearing up for the challenge of the search. She seemed to thrive in finding out information about the most obscure things. The people in the office had nicknamed her the 'Wunderkind' because she could seemingly work miracles and find information that no one else could.

"I want you to check out a company called Gen8tyx. Until last month it was based in Orlando in Florida, but it's moved to somewhere in California now. I want anything you can get on it. They're a genetics company. Try to find out what they were doing, if they have printed any white papers or scientific articles..."

"Okay, anything else?"

"Yes, can you talk to your friends in Wall Street, and find out what the buzz is on the Gen8tyx stock? Although, it could be a private company, so maybe it's not listed...And can you check the company records to see who the directors are? And if it is public, then look at their internal share dealings, the sales and purchases of the directors etc?"

"No problem, I've got that...anything more?"

Kerrin could hear her champing at the bit, rearing and ready to gallop off into the archives to find out everything there was to be found.

"That's all for now...but use your initiative...anything that strikes you as odd, check it out. Okay?"

"Like I said...'no problemo'. I'll get right down to it!"

As Kerrin thanked her and hung up, he was already beginning to wonder what the wunderkind would dig up on Gen8tyx. Whatever she found, he was sure it would be good.

Chapter 18

Day Thirteen

Purlington Bay

California

Colonel Packard opened his eyes. The anaesthetic was beginning to wear off. A wave of nausea rolled over him and he groaned. He felt the room wobble and distort.

The light was bright. Slowly, the silhouette of a woman came into focus beside him.

It was Nurse Peterson. She was leaning over him, mopping his brow and smiling.

He smiled back.

"Colonel Packard...Welcome back. How do you feel?" Nurse Peterson asked softly.

"Like a train just hit me...but I'll survive."

"You'll feel a little strange for about an hour, but after that you'll start to feel a lot better. If you don't mind, we'd like to do some tests then?"

"No problem..." The Colonel closed his eyes again. The room span, and he gripped the edge of the bed with his hands, riding out the nausea. Thankfully it passed quickly.

When he opened his eyes again, he felt well enough to look around the room.

He focused on the view of the sea, and the blue sky above. It was a beautiful day outside. A fantastic day.

And if the Orlando Treatment worked, he hoped to spend many more just like it with his wife and grandchildren.

That was the reason he was doing this.

That and the fact that if the Orlando Treatment worked, he would be able to walk again for the first time in thirty years.

\--------------------

Miami

Florida

Laura sat at her desk, puzzled. She wasn't often puzzled, but there was something in the file in front of her that she didn't quite understand. At least, it wasn't immediately obvious.

It had taken a little bit of leg-work and persuading, a few smiles and sexy looks at hideously ugly men who she would never consider dating in a million years, but it had worked.

She picked up the phone and dialled a number in New York.

"John, it's Laura. Sorry to bother you again so soon, but I have a little question for you."

She didn't like dealing with John. He was a shady character at best. Laura had always suspected that although he was employed by Chymera, he was really working for the government. Almost like her, but in reverse.

"Are we secure?"

"Yes. With the latest 1024 bit key voice encryption."

"Okay, so what's your question?"

"I've just received a copy of a report from the Coroner's office here in Miami. The Coroner was persuaded by someone in the police department to do another autopsy on Henry Roberts. It makes interesting reading. It confirms again that he suffered severe trauma from a suicide attempt, by hanging himself, but it then goes on to say that he didn't have a heart attack as was first believed by the doctors...I was just wondering if your guys had any more involvement with him, after they botched up the initial attempt to kill him?" Her words were pointed. She enjoyed pointing out other people's mistakes.

The man at the other end of the phone seemed relatively unfazed by the blatant dig at his professionalism.

"No. When David Sonderheim called us, we picked Roberts up from Sonderheim's home as requested. Then we took Roberts back to his house, and dangled him from the tree. But not before we got the rest of the information from him that we needed. Anyway, he'd already divulged most of what we needed to know directly to Sonderheim quite willingly on the phone, before we arrived. Seems he'd had a falling out with the rest of the group. They didn't see eye-to-eye on everything...Anyway, after we got the rest of the information we needed from him, we carried out the order to kill him ..."

"Well almost, but after your men botched up the fake suicide, did they finish the job in the hospital?"

"No. We knew he was in a coma and not likely to come out of it. I had a man waiting outside the hospital round the clock, just to make sure that if he did wake up, then we could silence him properly before he could talk...but with all that hospital security, it just seemed madness to risk sending someone inside, especially when he was already in a coma, and not expected to pull through. And I resent your reference to a 'botched job'. Please do not refer to it again. If you had provided us with better information, if we had known about the dogs...we would have killed him somewhere else."

"Let's not start throwing blame around like a couple of kids. All I am trying to establish here is whether or not your group were responsible for murdering dear old Henry. According to the coroner's report, someone gave him a lethal injection of a muscle-relaxant, which induced paralysis and death...and made it look like a heart attack."

"That's very interesting...but it wasn't us." John replied, an element of surprise almost breaking through his incredibly boring, monotone voice.

"Are you telling me that someone else beat you to it?"

"Looks that way, doesn't it!"

"If it wasn't you, who the hell was it then?"

\--------------------

There was no direct flight from Miami to Cape Town, so she would have to fly to Washington first, spend the night in George Town, and then catch the South African Airways flight the next day. It was going to be a long trip.

It was a thirty minute drive to the airport from her apartment by the beach. She hit a button on the dash board, and the roof of her Audi coupé import slid back silently into its awning at the back of the car. She reached up and pulled the pin from her hair, shaking it out and letting it flow freely in the warm air as she sped down the outside lane of the freeway.

With one hand on the steering wheel, she ran her spare hand through her long, auburn curls. The question went round and round her brain, and it was beginning to bug Laura.

"If we didn't kill Henry Roberts, who did?"

Until this afternoon Laura hadn't quite made up her mind if she would handle this personally or not. She had a few FBI contacts in South Africa who could do the job for her, but this business was beginning to intrigue her.

And besides, after she had ribbed John and his team for messing up the Henry Roberts killing, she had to make sure that there were no mistakes in getting rid of Alex Swinton. If her team messed up, she would be no better than he was.

No, this one definitely called for the personal touch. She would direct the operation herself.

Chapter 19

Day Fourteen

Washington Airport

Even though it meant setting the alarm clock for 4. 30 a.m., Dana had insisted on taking Kerrin to the airport.

They arrived early, giving them the chance to check in then grab a coffee together in Starbucks. He didn't want to admit it, but Kerrin was a little nervous. He was a good reporter. He enjoyed his work, but it had been years since he had been a policeman, and he had grown accustomed to a relatively quiet life. Although he was enjoying the thrill of the chase, it was a sudden jolt to the system to be thrown back into the stress of living on the edge. What had started out as a few visits to some mourning widows had now turned into an adventure which at every turn thrust him closer to an unknown danger. A danger which seemed to lurk in the shadows, becoming more menacing the closer he came to revealing the hidden face of the person lying in wait around the next corner, the person who was responsible for the deaths of his brother-in-law and the others he worked with, and the person whose identity Kerrin had vowed to uncover.

He couldn't admit to Dana that she could be right. Perhaps he was flying to South Africa only to come face to face with the man who had murdered his work colleagues in cold blood. Yet, he had to know. Like a moth drawn to a burning flame, Kerrin could not avoid the task before him. He had to find and meet with Alex Swinton.

When the loudspeakers announced his flight, he gave Dana a hug, kissed her passionately in a public display of affection that surprised even himself, and walked through the departure gates.

When he got to gate nineteen, he found the flight was not yet boarding, so he walked back to the nearest shop and picked up a selection of magazines to read en route. Checking on the gate again, he found that the flight was still not boarding, so he walked across to the bar and sat down. Time for another coffee. As he waited for the waitress to come to his table, he noticed a paper lying on the seat opposite him, recognising it immediately as the Miami Chronicle. He leant across and scooped it up, checking the date to see how old it was. It was yesterday's, the late edition. A passenger from Florida must have brought it up on a flight last night.

His coffee arrived and as he lifted the cup to drink from it, he spread the broad-sheet out on the table in front of him. His eyes were immediately drawn to the main story of the local paper: "Two Miami Policemen die in Bungled Raid".

Immediately below the by-line were two pictures of the policemen who had died.

The one on the left was his friend James 'IceBreaker' Callaghan.

The picture had been taken some years ago, probably just after he had graduated from the academy and before he had started to put on the extra weight, but Kerrin recognised the picture of his friend immediately.

He scanned the story quickly, sat back in his chair and took a few deep breaths, then leant forward across the table and read the story again slowly. The article only took up a third of the front page, but it took Kerrin several minutes to take it all in and digest it properly.

He couldn't believe that James was dead. When he came to the end of the article for the third time, he realised that his hands were shaking and that his heart was beating fast. He had even broken out into a sweat. He stood up slowly, slightly unsteady on his feet, and made his way to the restroom where he splashed his face with cold water, dabbed it down with some paper towels, then found a cubicle and closed the door behind him and sat down.

He unfurled the paper and reread the article again for the fifth or sixth time. One of the sentences stuck in his mind.

"...obviously disturbed in the middle of the raid, the gunmen shot their way out of the shop, dropping most of the stolen money behind them as they ran. Relatives of the deceased shopkeeper estimated that they only managed to escape with about $200..."

$200! Was that all a life was worth nowadays?

He read the article again.

Now that he had begun to calm down, something about the article began to trouble him. Memories of his days as a policeman on the beat came rushing back to him. His instinct, once finely tuned from years of patrolling the crime ridden streets of America, was telling him that something was wrong.

Then he spotted it. It was really a combination of two things:

'...The two police officers responded promptly to the alarm, and arrived within ten minutes of the gunmen entering the premises...'

and

'... the gunmen shot their way out of the shop, dropping most of the stolen money behind them as they ran.'

What had the gunmen been doing in the shop for over ten minutes? In Kerrin's experience, the gunmen got in there, grabbed the takings and got out immediately. Four to five minutes tops. But ten?

And then they left all their money behind?

It seemed too much of a coincidence to Kerrin that James had died just as he had started to help him investigate the Orlando Suicides.

And then suddenly it all made sense.

It hadn't been a robbery. It had been an execution designed to look like one. The robbers hadn't really intended to steal the money. They had only wanted to lure the policemen to the shop so that they could kill James... to stop him from asking too many questions...and then make it look like a bungled robbery!

Grabbing his stuff, he left the toilet and ran to the nearest phone. He dialled Dana's cell phone, swearing to himself, and urging her to answer it. It took a few minutes for her to pick it up.

"Dana? Where are you?"

"Almost home...I'll be there in about ten minutes? Why?"

"Listen to me. Please, please don't argue with me, or ask too many questions. Can you remember how I told you about my friend James in Florida, and how he helped me over the past few days?"

"You mean 'the IceBreaker?' "

"Yes! ...James...He was killed yesterday. Shot. Dana, James is dead..." he paused for a moment, trying to grab his breath. "Dana, I want you to pack some things, and go and stay with a friend. Just get out of the house. Don't stay there...Call my boss Paul from a payphone and tell him where you are. I'll come to you when I get back!"

"Kerrin? Do you think they'll try to kill you next? And me? ...I'm scared."

"So am I honey. So am I. I don't know, maybe they don't know about me yet, but I think they do. I told you that I think someone must have tapped my phone? Maybe I'm just being over cautious, even a little paranoid, but I don't think so....Listen, I have to go to South Africa and find this guy Alex Swinton. If he's behind this, I'll catch him and that'll be the end of it...and if he's not, then maybe he'll know who is...I have to go...but I can't go if I know you're in the house alone!" Kerrin almost shouted down the phone, the words spilling out of his mouth and unable to hide the fear in his voice. "Will you go to a friend's...please...as soon as possible?"

There was a moment's pause, then the answer he needed to hear.

"Yes. Okay. And I'll leave the number with Paul."

Behind him Kerrin could make out the voice on the P.A. system urgently requesting the last remaining passengers of Flight 203 to make their way quickly to gate nineteen, where the flight was now closing.

"Dana, I have to go. My flight's just leaving...go to your friends...Today! Now!"

He dropped the phone onto the cradle, grabbed his papers and ran to the gate, the last person to board the plane.

As he walked onto the flight, searching for his seat in the fifth row in Business Class, an attractive young lady looked up from an aisle seat in the second row as he passed her by. She looked away again quickly, burying her head in the magazine she was reading. She had recognised him immediately. The question was, had Kerrin recognised Agent Laura Samuels?

Chapter 20

Day Fourteen

The Gen8tyx Company

Purlington Bay

California

When Trevor Simons had arrived at the clinic he was exhausted. Even so, when he entered the complex he had refused the wheelchair that had been offered to him. He despised weakness, and he despised it even more so in himself.

He was fighting the illness, the monster within him, trying to destroy it with every ounce of willpower that he had left. Yet sometimes, the monster seemed just too powerful, and recently he had felt fear for the first time in his life. Fear that he might not win the battle. Fear that he may die.

Whenever the fear came, he had locked himself away in his office or his house, and refused to let anyone else see him. Sometimes sleep overcame him, and when he awoke he felt better. At other times he would sit in a chair, or lie on the floor or on his bed, until the strength returned to his tired bones and muscles, and he was able to carry on.

He was not a stupid man. He knew the prognosis was ultimately fatal. It had been a risk stopping the other treatment that could potentially have prolonged his life and coming to Purlington Bay. His doctors had advised him against it. Of course, he had not told them what he knew about the Orlando Treatment...the hope that it offered...but he knew that if he didn't take the risk and join the new Phase Two Trials now, then he may not be around for the time when Phase Three started. It was all or nothing. A last minute gamble. A final role of the dice.

His memory of the past two days was obscure. A dream that shifted from reality to fantasy to reality and back again, until the dreams and the reality blurred and became indecipherable. Visions of people, doctors, nurses, beautiful women dressed in white...or were they angels come to collect him? No, that they certainly weren't. The day he died, he knew there would be nothing angelic waiting on the other side to meet him. Where he was going, it was going to be very hot indeed.

In his dreams he could remember big machines, tunnels in rotating domes, injections, tubes hanging out of every limb, blood transfusions,...and smiles, laughter, followed by exhaustion, and dreams within dreams. Had he really cried at the pain of it all? Had he been delirious? Was it all a dream, and how much of it had been true?

All he knew was that he couldn't remember what had happened to him. As soon as he had entered his room on the first day he had collapsed into a deep sleep. He had awoken to the voice of a beautiful nurse, and then there had been a doctor...and then...?

Then there was now.

And now?

He lifted his head off the pillow and noticed for the first time the blue sky outside his bedroom window. He could see the sea birds soaring on the thermals, rising and falling with the wind and the hot air blowing inland across the bay, and he felt strangely moved. How lucky they were to be so mobile, so free.

He turned his head back to the room, half expecting the movement to be accompanied by a wave of pain or exhaustion. But there was nothing.

His eyes scanned his living quarters and he realised how comfortable and bright they actually were. It occurred to him then that for the first time in months he was noticing 'detail'.

In the past, 'detail' had been his thing. It was his attention to detail that had helped him get to where he was now: one of the richest and most powerful men in America. With interests spanning munitions, heavy machinery and transport, Simons Holdings was one of America's greatest companies. A company which Trevor himself had built up from nothing. From nothing to a vast fortune, all in forty years. All created by his attention to detail.

He smiled to himself and decided to try and get out of bed. He swung his legs over the edge of the mattress and tried to sit up, and found himself doing it with surprising agility.

He stood up, and strolled towards the window.

His footsteps were solid and strong. The muscles in his legs tight and powerful. He reached the window expecting to have to steady himself against the window frame but felt no need to do so. He turned and walked back towards the mirror, a slight spring in his step. He stood before the man whose reflection looked back at him, and was surprised to see how healthy the stranger in front of him seemed.

The bags under his eyes were no longer as dark and pronounced as before, and the haggard look which had haunted him for months had been replaced by a peaceful mask which contorted his face into something almost acceptable...someone he hardly recognised.

It was then that he realised that he felt great. Really great. Not tired. Not sad.

Just great.

In the room next door Colonel Packard awoke from his dreams. He had dreamt that he had been running in a football match, straight down the outside of the field, just about to pluck the ball from the air and score the winning points in the game.

As his eyelids flickered open he realised there was something troubling him. Something unusual which he took a while to recognise and identify.

It was an odd sensation. Almost as if...no, it couldn't be...but it was!

Packard sat up in his bed and bent forward. Stretching his hand out as far as it would go, he scratched his foot.

"Oh...," he thought to himself ."That felt good!"

He rubbed and massaged it, then scratched it again. Then he cried.

For the first time since a Viet Cong bullet had sliced through the edge of his spine in Vietnam, Colonel Packard was able to feel a sensation in his foot. It was itching.

\--------------------

Business Class

33,000 ft above the Atlantic Ocean

Kerrin was a nervous wreck. He couldn't stop thinking about James, and his death. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that James had been professionally executed. They had been clever. Very clever. What sort of people had gone to all that trouble, instead of just shooting him dead in the street? Someone, somewhere, had gone to great lengths to silence James without drawing any more attention to the questions he had been asking.

Kerrin was scared. He was worried for Dana.

But as he thought about it a transition began to take place in Kerrin. A metamorphosis.

A change, which took place so slowly that he himself didn't realise it was occurring.

This was becoming personal.

Very personal.

Whoever was behind the Orlando Suicides had killed two people that Kerrin had liked, even loved. They had ruined the lives of his sister and nephews, and taken a father from their children. And now there was the possibility that the very core of his existence, his wife Dana, could also be in danger.

Slowly the fear within Kerrin grew, turned itself inside out, and changed into hate. His hands that for the past few hours had been trembling nervously with fear, now shook with anger.

Kerrin swore to himself that he would track down whoever had done this to his family and his friends. He would find those people and destroy them. And if need be, he would kill them.

For the first time, he knew with absolute clarity that it was now them or him. He would make sure it was them.

The loudspeaker announced that the cabin crew were going to dim the lights.

Kerrin felt much calmer now, but he could do with a stiff drink. Perhaps he would read a little to further calm himself down. Reading always relaxed him. It took his mind off his own problems and allowed his mind to soar, to live life through the eyes of the authors, and to experience worlds far beyond his own.

He reached into his bag and pulled out a copy of 'RAGE', a novel he had started reading over two years before but had never got round to finishing. It was a book about South Africa, and he had grabbed it from his study just as they had left the house. Maybe he would get the chance to finish it before he landed.

He picked himself up and made his way to the small bar on the upper deck of the aircraft, ordering a double malt whisky and taking residence on a pew beside the small counter.

\--------------------

At first Laura couldn't quite believe the coincidence, but on further reflection she realised that it was not so strange after all. Kerrin had to be in Langebaan in two days time to meet Alex Swinton, and there were only a limited number of flights to Cape Town, so there was always a fairly high chance that they would end up sharing the same transportation.

In actual fact, there was very little for her to be worried about. Whereas she now knew a lot about Kerrin, there was little if any chance at all that Kerrin knew anything about her. Why should he? There was no connection from her to him. As far as he was concerned, she was just another passenger en route to Cape Town.

The big question was: 'how could she turn this accident of fate to her own advantage?' She decided that the best thing to do would be to somehow introduce herself. If she could make friends with him, then perhaps she would be able to find out a little bit more about his movements and intentions in South Africa. And maybe she would be able to have a little fun in the process.

She pulled out her compact and while pretending to examine something on her face, she looked at the reflection of Kerrin in the small mirror. He was sitting about four rows back in an aisle seat, skimming through a glossy magazine.

Laura's taste in men was quite varied. Kerrin was slightly overweight, but not at all unattractive. He easily came within the realm of 'acceptable'.

The plane was not too crowded, and only half the seats in business class were occupied. On this flight down there was no real distinction between First Class and Business Class, and both groups of passengers were invited to use the small bar on the top floor of the airplane.

About two hours in, just after the in-flight entertainment episode of 'Friends' had finished, Laura took her headset off and flashed a glance back down the aisle. Kerrin's seat was empty. She hadn't noticed him make his way past her to the toilets at the front of the aircraft so she guessed that he might have gone up to the bar.

She flicked the release catch and slipped out of her seatbelt, straightening herself up and smoothing down her skirt. She stretched, smiled at the woman sitting beside her, and made her way to the stairs going up to the top deck.

As she emerged into the small area above, she found three people sitting at the small bar: two business men who looked like they were talking shop, and Kerrin who was sitting by himself sipping a whisky and reading a book.

She took the seat beside him, catching the attention of the flight attendant and asking for a Martini. Taking the cocktail stick out of the glass and sucking the alcohol off the green olive, perhaps a little too erotically, she turned to Kerrin.

"Good book?"

He looked up, smiled at her, and closed the novel, placing it on the bar counter beside his drink.

"Wilbur Smith. Perhaps the best author on the planet. Thought I'd read something topical."

She looked at the title. A single word, 'Rage', ran across the front of the book, the author's name written in gold underneath. It was one she had already read and she had loved it.

"Rage? What's it all about...sounds a bit 'angry' and violent." she smiled innocently back at him.

"Not really. It's a novel set in the years running up to the abolition of apartheid in South Africa...sort of gives you an idea of the cultural events leading up to Mandela being elected.

"Would you recommend it?" she asked, smiling at him, her eyes twinkling in the light from the bar lamp.

"Absolutely...actually, I've only got about eighty pages left to read. If I finish it before we land, I can give it to you, if you would like?"

"Oh...I would like that very much. Thank you..."

Kerrin adjusted his position in his seat. Was the lady coming on to him? He picked his whisky up and took a sip, his eyes appraising her quickly over the edge of the glass. Kerrin reckoned she was about twenty-eight years old. She was smartly dressed, a pearl necklace complementing an elegant pink cardigan and a chic blue skirt. Her eyes were emerald green, her long auburn hair, cascading over her shoulders and disappearing down her back. The only thing wrong with her, as far as Kerrin was concerned, was that her breasts were slightly too large for his taste. Kerrin was more a leg person. Still, if he had been a single man, and maybe just a few years younger, he would have been quite attracted to her.

Laura followed his eyes as he scanned her body, and was pleased when he smiled back at her when the assimilation had been completed. Why were men so obvious? Yet she had to admit that she found Kerrin quite attractive too. He seemed to be very laid-back, quite cool and self confident, and he had an incredible smile. Laura could normally make up her mind about someone in the first few seconds of meeting them, and with Kerrin she realised two things.

Firstly, she liked him. And perhaps she was even interested in him.

Secondly, she immediately recognised that Kerrin was not the sort of person that fell off his chair every time a gorgeous woman walked past. He was not the type to be easily led by looks, but belonged to that rare subset of the male species that actually looked behind the external appearance and saw what was inside the person. There would be no point in carrying on flirting so overtly with him. That approach would just turn him off. No, if she wanted to have this man, she would have to flirt with his mind and not what was in his trousers.

The idea excited her. She knew she was playing with fire, perhaps dancing a little too close to the flame, but this was something she had never done before. This was new. Seducing the man who, sometime in the near future, she may be asked to kill.

"So will this be your first time in South Africa?" she asked.

"Yes...and you?"

"Me too...but I'm afraid that for me, this will be more business than pleasure. Not enough time to play..."

"But you're lucky that your work takes you to such nice places. Just think of all those people who never get the chance to travel abroad at all."

"Oh, I suppose you're right. It's just that I hate these long trips abroad by myself. No, don't get me wrong, I find them exciting...but sometimes you get a little tired of being away from home so much. You get so lonely..." She replied, turning towards him.

"May I ask what's taking you down there then? Who do you work for?" he asked. He seemed genuinely interested.

"Oh...I don't actually work for anyone really. I have my own business. I work in the travel industry. I'm just coming down to check out a new idea I've had."

"Sounds interesting. Is it a secret or can you tell me what it is?"

"I suppose so. You can be my market research. Tell me what you think of my idea...I'm thinking of running specialist adventure holidays for Americans in South Africa. I'm going to start off with Specialist Windsurfing holidays, and I'm going to spend the next few weeks checking out the hot windsurfing destinations."

"It sounds a great idea. I love windsurfing, and that's the reason I'm flying down too...I'm a journalist, and I want to write something about windsurfing in the Cape."

"Wow, that's a coincidence." She smiled back, and they both laughed nervously.

"Can I introduce myself? My names Kerrin. May I ask you what your name is?"

"Carol. You can call me Carol..."

"Well Carol, can I get you another drink?" Kerrin asked her, signalling politely to the stewardess for some attention.

"Please. That would be nice."

The conversation flowed easily between them. At first Laura tried to manipulate it, attempting to extract some valuable information from him, but after a while she just relaxed and started to enjoy the conversation for what it was.

Kerrin was an interesting man. Although he revealed little about his personal life or his work, he willingly shared his ideas and views with her about politics, religion and the arts. Laura found herself enjoying his company.

She definitely was dancing too close to the flame.

She was surprised by how much she was warming to this man. How much her body was becoming attracted to him. How much she wanted him...Perhaps, this had not been such a good idea after all.

"Kerrin...It's been wonderful talking to you, but I'm going to be really selfish and leave you to finish your book, so that you can give it to me tomorrow morning." She stood up and stretched out her arm to shake his hand.

As Kerrin shifted the glass from his right to his left hand she noticed the flash of gold on the wedding finger. She was even surprised at her own reaction to it.

She was disappointed.

As Laura walked back down the stairs Kerrin smiled to himself. He may be old and fat, but it was true that some women were still attracted to him. He hadn't lost it after all. He couldn't wait to tell Dana that he had been hit upon, and to tease her about it when he called her the next day!

Chapter 21

Day Fifteen

Cape Town

South Africa

Kerrin hated long-haul overnight flights. He hated the jetlag that hit a few hours after he stepped off the airplane and usually accompanied his every move for the following week.

Over the years he had developed his own theory on how to survive the ravages of international travel. His rules were simple:-

1: Don't sleep on overnight flights.

2: When arriving, do your best to adapt immediately to the local time zone by staying awake until the normal time of the day that you would consider going to sleep.

3: Drink lots of water on the flight.

Staying awake the whole night was the hardest part to do. If he slept, he knew he would feel terrible the next day. If he didn't sleep, he would just feel very tired. Either way, he would be exhausted.

Tonight though, keeping awake had not been a problem. Although his conversation with the attractive woman in the bar had taken his mind off things a little, he couldn't help but think more about James's death.

It wasn't every day that you found out one of your best friends had been murdered. And it was probably because of Kerrin: if Kerrin had not got him involved, James would still be alive now!

When the cabin crew switched the lights back on, and did their best to wake the sleeping business men and women in as polite and charming a way as possible, he stretched over the empty seat beside him, and lifted the shade on the window, allowing himself to see out and give himself his first glimpse of the African continent.

They were flying parallel to the mainland, several miles out to sea. As Kerrin watched, a golden sun rose, signifying the start of a wonderful cloud free day ahead.

A smiling stewardess brought him a tray with fresh coffee, orange juice and what did its best to look like freshly made scrambled eggs with bacon and tomatoes. Starving, Kerrin wolfed down the contents of the breakfast, and catching the attention of the stewardess asked if there were any possibility of a second helping. She smiled back, returning shortly with a second tray.

Thirty minutes later, the 747 jet flew over Robben Island, the island prison of Nelson Mandela, then turned back towards the mainland, circling the mountain range and massive plateau that is Table Mountain. As he looked out across the cityscape of Cape Town, sprawling across the base of the mountain range, Kerrin couldn't help but feel excitement in his chest. An excitement which was swiftly accompanied by a twang of guilt.

Guilt that he would be exploring Cape Town by himself, without Dana by his side.

And guilt because he could feel such positive emotions, when only a few days before his friend James had been murdered.

A short while later the plane disembarked, the business passengers leaving the aircraft first. As he reached into the overhead locker, Laura made her way past him to the exit. Surprisingly, in spite of the overnight flight, she looked remarkably fresh.

"Good morning, I hope you slept well?" she smiled at him.

"Oh no, I never sleep on overnight flights...and besides I had a lot of reading to catch up with...which reminds me, would you like the book we talked about?" he reached into his bag and offered his copy of "RAGE" to the attractive lady.

She took it gratefully, and flashed him a wide smile, her green eyes twinkling in the bright cabin lights.

"Thanks...I'll look forward to reading it."

As she moved past him, she turned and looked at him once more.

"I hope you have a pleasant stay...you never know, since we're both here for related reasons...maybe we'll bump into each other again?"

"That would be nice, but in case we don't, I hope that you have a fruitful stay." Kerrin replied.

"Thanks, I'm sure I will. I fully intend to. "

Laura smiled at the man one last time. She liked him. More than she should. Sadly though, next time they met, she would probably have to kill him.

\--------------------

It was almost ten o'clock in the morning before Kerrin had loaded his luggage into the trunk of his white Toyota Corolla at the airport in Cape Town. Instead of taking a cheaper local rental company, he had opted for the more expensive Hertz option, feeling more comfortable in the knowledge that should he break down anywhere in the expansive countryside outside Cape Town, Hertz could arrange for his car to be picked up without any hassle. He didn't like the idea of driving several hundred miles away from Cape Town into the Karoo desert, or breaking down in the mountains, and then finding out it was his responsibility to fix the car and return it to Cape Town. No, for peace of mind he would pay the few extra dollars it cost.

From the airport he took the N2 motorway into Cape Town, already grateful for the air conditioning he had insisted upon there being in the car. Outside the sun was blazing from a cloudless sky and the temperature was creeping up into the thirties. Thankfully a light breeze was blowing in from the east, which would make it more bearable when outside the car.

He was heading into the town centre. On the plane he'd had a chance to read a section from the "Lonely Planet Guide to South Africa", and following its suggestion he had decided to have lunch in the wharf area of Cape Town harbour. He would give himself a few hours to do a spot of sightseeing, then in the afternoon he was going to head out along the coast road to Langebaan. According to the map it was about three hours drive from Cape Town, and hopefully he would get there about six o'clock, giving him enough time to find a hotel somewhere.

He had agreed to meet Alex Swinton in two days time, but Kerrin was going to do his best to find him either later that night or the next day. He wanted to try and reach him as soon as possible.

The N2 petered out, and scanning the overhead motorway signs, Kerrin managed to follow the roads down to the back of the harbour.

The car-park bordered the wharf area, which consisted of a large modern shopping complex and a number of old boathouses which had been converted into shops, bars and restaurants. Walking through the shopping mall, Kerrin came out onto the quayside, where directly in front of him a large number of fishing boats, pleasure craft and tourist ferries huddled and rocked together in the water of a large harbour.

On the right hand side the skyline was dominated by the awesome and magnificent panorama of Table Mountain. The mountain rose steeply from the bay beneath, sheer cliffs a thousand feet tall rising to a plateau, which looked as flat as the top of a kitchen table. From where he stood he could see a cable car making its way up the side of the cliff.

The mountain range of which Table Mountain was a part, ran along Kerrin's right hand side, stretching along the coastline as far as he could see.

To his left, large cargo ships blocked the view of the ocean, but the smell of the sea beyond filled his nostrils. Squawking seagulls chased the fishing boats returning from a day at sea, and some seals swam amongst the boats in the harbour and basked on one of the harbour walls.

The air was filled with the sound of people laughing and having fun, and the water was alive with the reflections of the boats and the colourful marine buildings bordering the harbour.

His senses thrilled to it all, and Kerrin was lost in the moment. What a place!

All thoughts of the reason he was here were momentarily forgotten, and for a few minutes Kerrin was a tourist, seeing a beautiful new city through the eyes of a traveller. If only his wife Dana had been here to share the experience with him. It was incredible.

He walked along the edge of the quayside, admiring the boats in the harbour, and sharing the excitement of the tourists milling around the dock. He had wandered for an hour before he realised how hungry he was, and then he followed the smell of pizza to one of the many pavement restaurants overlooking the harbour. He ordered a large cold 'Castle' lager, and a Four Seasons pizza, and settled down in his seat in the sunshine, studying the view of the mountain above.

This was the life.

The drive to Langebaan was interesting, although almost disappointingly the massive mountains that formed such a dramatic backdrop to Cape Town slowly began to drop behind him and diminish in size. Soon he was just driving through flat, featureless countryside devoid of houses or farms.

The tarmac road ran on for miles straight ahead, green and brown bushes, called 'fynbos' by the locals, covering the otherwise barren ground on either side. Occasionally Kerrin got a glimpse of the sea, and every now and again he could see seagulls swooping down low to pick up scraps from the road.

About three hours after he had left Cape Town he drove through a small group of buildings which formed the town of Langebaan. After passing through the town Kerrin circled round and drove back into the centre of the main street, stopping in front of what was obviously the only hotel in town.

He parked, and stepped out of the car. A wall of heat hit him broadside and he suddenly understood why the main street was deserted. Everyone with any sense was hiding inside the air conditioned buildings. He stretched, walked round to the back of the car and pulled out his suitcase and hand luggage.

From outside, the hotel didn't appear to be anything special, but walking through the door into the air-conditioned reception area, he was pleasantly surprised by the tasteful interior. The hotel had a homely feel to it, with a distinct Dutch influence immediately apparent in the choice of décor. There was a bar, and a restaurant on the left which spilled out on to an open veranda overlooking the main street, and on the right there was a spacious lounge. From the hall, a sweeping staircase led up to the three floors above. Before entering, the hotel had appeared deceptively small and cramped, yet once inside, it was spacious and relaxed. Kerrin realised that several of the buildings on either side of the original façade must have been absorbed into the hotel. The biggest building in town, Kerrin guessed that this place was probably the hub of the community, the bar beside the restaurant probably the only one in town.

"Good day, may I help you sir?"

A young lady asked, stepping out from the restaurant to behind the reception desk at the base of the staircase. Kerrin was struck by her beautiful blue eyes and her long blonde hair. He guessed she was about twenty three years of age.

"Yes, I hope so. I was wondering if you have a room for a couple of days?"

"I believe we do. You're lucky though, at this time of the year we are normally quite full."

She smiled at Kerrin and typed a few things on a computer keyboard, scanning the screen as if making the choice of a room.

"Is it just for yourself? Would a single room be okay? No smoking? Okay, and for how many nights would that be sir?"

"Two nights for now, please."

"May I see your passport for a moment please sir?" she asked politely, taking it from Kerrin's outstretched hand and typing the passport number into the computer.

"There you are, sir..." she said, pulling down a key from the board behind her. "Room 348. Breakfast is included in the price, and is served between 8 a.m. and 10 a.m. in the restaurant... would there be anything else I can help you with sir?" she smiled again.

Kerrin hesitated, then bent down and unzipped the sports bag he had used as his hand luggage on the plane. He reached inside and pulled out the postcard from Alex Swinton from an inside pocket. He straightened up and showed the woman behind the desk the picture on the front of the card.

"Actually, I'm a journalist from America, I've come here to do a story on windsurfing in the Cape. I'm meant to be meeting one of my friends here, at the entrance to this park...can you tell me where it is?"

The woman looked at the card and smiled.

"It's not far from here. You just keep going out of town, and after about four miles, on the left you will come to a tarmacked road which will take you down a dirt track to the entrance gate of the park...it's about ten minutes tops."

"Thanks." Then just as he was turning to go up to his room, Kerrin added as an afterthought. "My friend is called Alex Swinton...I don't suppose he's staying in this hotel is he?"

Since this was the only hotel in town, perhaps Kerrin would be lucky.

A moment later the woman looked up from the computer.

"No, I'm sorry...there's no one here by that name, but if he's in town for the surfing, I would suggest you try Old Ronnie's down by the beach. In about an hour's time the light will start to go, and the surfers will come off the waves, change and head for a beer...maybe you'll find him there."

"Could you tell me where it is?" Kerrin asked.

"Sure...let me draw you a little map..."

Kerrin felt refreshed. The shower in his room was powerful, and cool, and the water had invigorated him and washed away the fatigue of travelling half way round the world. His poor, confused body clock, struggling to adjust to the new time zone, was quickly filled with a flood of unexpected energy. Although the evening was coming on fast, he felt like it was only the beginning of the afternoon.

His stomach on the other hand was completely lost. It didn't know if it was breakfast, lunch or dinnertime. In the end it had just shut down, and now Kerrin didn't feel the slightest bit hungry.

He followed the map the receptionist had given him until he came to the spot where the smooth tarmac stopped and where a sign pointed to the 'Langebaan National Reserve', where he turned and drove his rental car through an open, unattended entrance gate and down a sandy, dirt-track road towards the beach. The road wound around a number of small sand dunes, then dipped down and came out into a small parking area surrounded by large bushes. As he stepped out of the car, he could hear the sound of surf crashing onto the beach, and following the sound he came out onto a wide, clean, white beach that ran in both directions as far as the eye could see. Beyond the line of surf the sea was calm and still. The sun was beginning to set, and its orange reflection stretched out across the surface of the sea from the edge of the surf line towards the horizon.

A few, wet-suit clad youngsters were just emerging from the waves, carrying their sails and boards from the surf. A few yards away a group of excited people sat around on rough wooden benches in front of a buzzing beach bar, the tops of their wetsuits rolled down to their waists. The sand around them was dotted with windsurfing equipment and a row of tall, colourful sails stood in a rack in the lee of the wooden building. Some of the people threw Kerrin a cursory glance, but quickly got back to their conversations, excitedly discussing the day's windsurfing.

Kerrin slipped off his shoes, letting his toes dig deep into the sand, and stood silently in awe of the sunset. He breathed the salt air deeply into his lungs and exhaled slowly.

It was a far cry from Miami and Washington, and the deaths he had come here to investigate.

A far cry indeed.

"Kerrin? ...Is that you?"

A man stood up on the far side of the beach bar crowd, and walked towards him, beer in hand. At first Kerrin didn't recognise him. His hair was bedraggled and still wet, his blue wetsuit gathered round his waist exposing a muscular, hairy chest. The man came towards him with his hand stretched out, and as Kerrin took it in his, the stranger wrapped him into a powerful bear hug.

"Kerrin...it's good to see you man! How did you find me?"

Kerrin was taken aback by the sudden show of affection from the stranger, and stepping back quickly, he looked him in the face. About five-foot-six, a squat-muscular frame, and thick biceps, his hair had been dyed blonde, and he had shaved off his beard. But now he was closer up, Kerrin recognised him.

He had found Alex Swinton.

\--------------------

It was an incredible view. The vista that stretched out before them took her breath away. It was a beautiful day and from the top of Table Mountain, Laura could see for miles. She was leaning over the wall just outside the top cable car station, and from where she stood she could see right over the edge of the cliff.

The cliffs of the mountain fell vertically beneath her for a thousand feet, before it hit the sloping ground, which then rolled down towards the bay of Cape Town at an angle of about forty-five degrees.

As she looked over the edge she felt a strange and sudden twinge in the pit of her stomach: the height and the sheer cliffs repulsed her from the edge, and yet simultaneously drew her towards it, and for a second she experienced a bizarre urge to climb on top of the wall and jump over the edge.

She pushed back with her arms from the top of the wall, and took her eyes from the dizzy fall beneath her.

Cape Town, or Kap Stadt as the locals called it, lay stretched out in the bay beneath her. The city fitted into a natural amphitheatre, a curved bowl surrounded by a wall of stone and mountain, the harbour area being where the stage should be.

On the left as she looked out to sea, the city was bordered by a large hill rising to a sharp point, called the Lion's Head. Beyond the foothills of Table Mountain on the right, the vista was a stark contrast, with flat land stretching out as far as the eye could see, bordered by a broad silver line of sand running along the edge of the coastline.

Turning to look behind her, she could see that Table Mountain ran flat for several miles before it started to rise and fall in a line of mountains which eventually petered out into the sea in the famous Cape Point, the most southern part of the African Continent.

On her left beyond the Lion's Head, her eyes followed a range of hills, which her map told her were called the 'Twelve Apostles' and led to a famous fishing village called 'Hout Bay'. Beyond that lay another peninsula and miles of golden sands.

The sea extended around her on three sides, the land only continuing to the North on her right.

The man beside her pointed to the flat land in the distance.

"That's where we're going next. Langebaan is about three hours drive over there..."

At first she had found his South African accent quite hard to understand, but after fifteen minutes she had begun to understand him a bit easier. Dirk Van Der Waal was an impressive man. Reliable, strong, intelligent and deadly. He was the leader of the in-country team that she had been using to track down Alex Swinton. She had never met him before, but when she stepped out of the cable car at the top of the mountain, she spotted him instantly beside the look-out point opposite the exit, their prearranged meeting point.

She had studied his file several times before she had flown out, and she knew he could be counted on should the situation get ugly. His team were mainly made up of South African ex-army or air force. Before being recruited as an FBI Overseas Agent, Dirk had spent several years in Namibia, Angola and Zimbabwe. He had served for two years in the South African equivalent of the UK's Special Air Services and his file showed that he had led many interesting and dangerous covert expeditions in the days leading up to the end of Apartheid in South Africa. Impressive was not the word.

In real life, he was even more handsome than the large photographs in his file. When Laura shook hands with him for the first time, she felt irresistibly drawn to the man before her. Over six foot tall, blonde and blue eyed, Laura could easily make out his powerful muscular body beneath his loose fitting T-shirt and long, green trousers. He oozed sex appeal, and Laura knew that his looks were just another of the many weapons that Dirk had mastered over the years.

"Make no mistake about it Laura," she told herself. "This man's a killer. He would eat you up and spit you out before breakfast!"

She found the idea strangely appealing.

"Did you bring the weapons?"

"Yes, as requested. They're in the van. Don't worry. Johan is guarding them."

"Excellent. Let's get going then. It's important that we get to Langebaan as soon as we can. Kerrin Graham came in on the same flight as me. He's not meant to meet Alex Swinton for another two days, but I'll bet your bottom dollar that he's headed straight out there now, hoping to find Swinton as soon as possible. We have to get there first. We've already wasted six hours by meeting up here. We should have met there."

"I'm sorry, Agent Samuels, but we didn't know until last night that you were coming, and we couldn't take the risk of meeting in town..."

"Don't call me 'Agent'. Call me Laura, and I'll call you Dirk."

"As you wish. Okay, then let's go. I took the liberty of sending my colleague Marieke ahead of us to Langebaan. She'll be there now, trying to locate Swinton before we get there. If he's there at all. Most likely he won't turn up for another two days..."

"No Dirk, that's where you're wrong. My gut instinct tells me the guy's there now. I'll bet you that even as we speak he's out there windsurfing in the sea. I hope he enjoys it, because with any luck today will be his last time. Our orders are to terminate him. Officially this is a Code Green Operation. Once it's over, it never happened. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Laura. I understand."

As Laura looked at Dirk, she saw that he was smiling, and she recognised the look in his eyes. Laura had never admitted it to anyone before, but she got a thrill, almost sexual, whenever she pulled the trigger on a gun and ended someone's life. From the way Dirk's eyes suddenly glistened at the mention of their mission, it would seem that he and she were the same. They both enjoyed to kill.

Chapter 22

Langebaan Bay

South Africa

The past couple of days had been fantastic. For the first time in months Alex Swinton had been able to put the dreadful happenings at Gen8tyx behind him. He had lost himself in a world of adventure, danger, sun, sea, and sex. Meeting Angelique had been the best thing that had happened to him in years.

Their attraction to each other had been instant. That they both shared the same passion for windsurfing was the icing on the cake. They had spent the past five days windsurfing together for most of the daylight hours, before collapsing exhausted in Angelique's bed at the end of the day, where they exhausted themselves even more through an insatiable union of their bodies.

Angelique had been the catalyst that had helped him forget the life he had fled, and through her the guilt had been lessened. Although it had only been two days, he knew now with absolute certainty that they had a future together. She was his new start, someone with whom to build a new life.

He had never intended to go back to America. Now he had a reason to stay in South Africa.

But first, he had to meet with Kerrin.

He was hoping that Kerrin would give him closure on the Gen8tyx affair. The guilt had been building up for the past few weeks, and before Angelique had arrived on the scene, he was scared that it would tip him over the edge. If Kerrin knew what he had done and had come to face him about it, he would confess.

There were no extradition agreements between South Africa and America. Even if he did confess, he would be safe here. He could go on to build a new life, and a new company to rival Gen8tyx right here in this new land. South Africa was a land waiting to be born. It had a vast ocean of talent just waiting to be tapped. Alex Swinton would tap that potential, and through him the dreams of their group in Gen8tyx would finally be recognised.

Yes, Alex had been looking forward to meeting up with Kerrin. For Alex, it was going to be the start of his new life.

"Alex, wow...sorry, I didn't recognise you there for a moment! You look so different from when Martin introduced us on the golf course. I'm glad you recognised me, because if you hadn't I would never have spotted you!" Kerrin blurted out. Smiling, and with a new hair style, the relaxed and tanned man standing before him now looked at least five years younger than the man he had met several weeks before. The clean South African air and the windsurfing were obviously doing him a power of good.

"...And I wasn't expecting to see you for another two days...but hey, it's good to see you. I've been looking forward to your visit. We need to talk," he patted Kerrin roughly on the side of his shoulder. "...But what brings you down so early?" he asked, his blonde eyebrows lifting up questioningly as he spoke, worried that Kerrin already knew what he had done.

Kerrin threw the others in the beach bar a quick glance.

"Sorry, I don't think it's a good idea to talk here...Can we go somewhere else?"

"Sure...listen, where are you staying? I could do with some food. I'm starving."

"I'm staying at the Langebaan Hilton." Kerrin joked in reply.

"Oh...you mean 'The Constantia Gardens Hotel'? Don't knock it pal, it's not only the best hotel in town..."

"..It's the only hotel in town!" Kerrin finished the sentence for him.

Alex laughed.

"Kerrin, give me a second or two. I've just got to say goodbye to a friend."

Kerrin watched Alex walk back across to where he had been sitting. A very pretty woman looked up, and smiled at him. Alex bent over her, whispered something in her ear. She laughed aloud and then looked across at Kerrin, waving a hand at him. She said something back to Alex, who looked at his watch, replied, and then kissed her again on the lips.

"She's lovely," Kerrin said as Alex returned.

"You're telling me...She's the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"So where are you staying then? Not at the hotel?"

"No. That would be a little too obvious. I'm trying to lie low at the moment...I was sleeping on the beach, but now I'm sleeping with Angelique at her place. Couldn't have worked out better."

"When did you meet her?"

"Just last week,...a few days after I got down here."

As they walked back to the car and drove back into town, Alex told Kerrin the story about how they had met.

"Can you drop me off just here? That'll be fine. I'll grab a shower, change and then meet you in the bar at the hotel in thirty minutes? How does that sound?" Alex asked.

"Sounds like a plan. See you then." Kerrin agreed.

When Alex walked into the bar thirty minutes later, he was a changed man. Literally. He certainly spruced up well. He wore a green shirt, and a pair of thin, cream, cotton trousers which were ideal for this hot climate. His Vans shoes were sensible but stylish with it, the tell-tale brilliant white along the edges showing that they were still almost new. With a pair of new Ray Ban sunglasses perched on top of his head, and a thin gold chain hanging tastefully around his neck, Kerrin couldn't help but admire the way the man looked. Alex strode purposely across the bar towards him, and took his hand firmly in his own.

It was obvious to Kerrin that this was not a man who seemed as if he was about to commit suicide. Like the others, he seemed to be enjoying life to the full. Someone who had everything to live for. The better question to ask was, had he killed the others?

"Beer?" Kerrin asked.

"Yes, but not one of those Castle lagers you're drinking...they're worse than American beers, if that's possible. I'll have one of those German imports please...a bottle of Becks!"

"Coming right up. Do you fancy sitting outside for dinner? The restaurant has some tables overlooking the street. There's a nice breeze, and we can see the sea from there."

"Okay. Sounds good."

Alex followed Kerrin outside, taking a seat on the veranda at a table overlooking the street.

"Cheers!" Kerrin lifted up his glass and toasted Alex.

"Cheers to you...and thanks for coming, although I still don't know exactly why you're here." Alex lifted the cold beer to his lips and drank half the bottle in his first sip. "Aah...that's better. I've been looking forward to that."

"Alex," Kerrin began."Let's get straight to the point. I'm here to warn you. To try and save your life and to find out what the hell happened at Gen8tyx. I want to know who killed my brother-in-law and his and your friends, and why they were all killed?"

Alex's face became very serious. The smile disappeared, and a haunted look took its place. In the space of a few seconds Alex seemed to have grown older and very tired. For a while neither of them said anything, and they sat in silence, Kerrin waiting for Alex to open up. When he did, it was almost in a whisper.

"I tried to warn Martin...I told him to get out...I'm sorry he didn't make it. He is...was, a good man." Alex said sombrely, his voice suddenly deeper and almost monotone.

"What happened Alex? Who killed him, and why?"

Alex put the bottle down on the table, and turned his face away from Kerrin. He looked out to sea, his mind cast back to the events in America.

It was dark now, the sun had gone, and in the heat of the African night, the rhythmic pulsing of crickets provided a natural musical backdrop to their conversation.

"What do you know about Gen8tyx?" Alex asked Kerrin, turning back to face him.

"Not much..."

"Do you know what we had achieved?"

"No..."

"Okay, I'll tell you. I'll tell you everything...but first, tell me how Martin died."

"He was trying to escape America. He'd told his wife and kids to fly to the Bahamas by themselves, and he had taken his private Lear Jet and flown it out to meet them there. Only he never made it. His plane blew up in mid-air. The official investigation didn't come up with anything. I've been digging around and it looks to me like it was shot down by a US military jet. Of course, the US Air Force deny it, and say they have no record of any flight intercepting Martin's plane."

He left it a moment, watching how Alex took the news. He said nothing.

"Alex, I know about the meeting that took place at Sam Cohen's house. I know that Henry Roberts called the meeting, and I know that you all planned to launch your own company. I suspect that's why everyone started to die..." Kerrin hesitated. " I also know that you called Henry Roberts at his home and had an argument with him the night he died..."

"What else do you know?"

"Not much...but Alex, it looks bad for you. You're the only one left alive. Everyone else is dead. I don't think you did...but..."

"...But you're wondering if I killed the others?"

"...Basically...Yes. It could look like that!"

"And what do the police think?"

"Well, when I left last week, officially the police had closed their files, but..."

"So, why don't you leave it at that? You don't know what you're messing with."

"I was about to mention that the police have just started looking at all the deaths again, starting with Henry Roberts." Kerrin lied. What he was saying was not strictly true, but he needed to provoke a reaction from Alex.

"And?"

"...And they found out that Henry Roberts was murdered. Injected with a muscle relaxant. Something to make him look like he'd had a heart attack. Someone obviously didn't want him to wake up from his coma..."

Alex looked away again, his face turning up to the sky for a second before he swallowed hard and faced Kerrin.

"You don't know the potential of what we discovered. If you did, well, then you'd understand..."

"Try to help me understand. Tell me what the hell was going on at Gen8tyx!"

"First of all, you have to believe me when I tell you that I didn't kill Sam, or Tom or Mike. I had nothing to do with Martin either...It was the Company...they knew what we were up to, and they were trying to stop us from going public with our results. Trying to stop us from setting up our own company, one which would make the new treatment available to everyone, to the whole of mankind..."

Kerrin noticed that Alex had not mentioned Henry's name. Why not? Had he accidentally left it out, or was it deliberate?

"And Henry Roberts? Did you kill him?"

"Kerrin, you've got to understand. If you did, you would have done exactly the same."

"Done what?"

"Tried to stop him!"

"Who? Henry Roberts?"

"Yes...it was him or us...I tried to save the others...I tried to save Henry too..."

"How?"

"When we met at Sam's place, Henry had got us all together to tell us what he thought was happening. He had fallen out with Gen8tyx's founder, David Sonderheim. He brought us together to warn us in advance that the company was going to move to California...that Gen8tyx was going to be going through big changes...and that those who didn't move with the company would be kicked out ..."

"And nobody else knew anything about this beforehand?"

"We knew something was up, but we didn't know exactly what. Sonderheim had been recruiting new scientists into the company without consulting us. We all thought it was something to do with natural expansion, preparing for future growth. We were just about to issue a press release about our discoveries...just about to share our findings with the world. Then all of a sudden, two days before the big press conference, ....wham!...everything was cancelled. No explanation, nothing. Just that it wasn't going to happen. A week later Henry called the meeting at Sam's..."

"And what happened at the meeting?"

"Henry knew that we wouldn't move to California...he thought we were getting a rough deal...you've got to understand that we'd all been together practically from the beginning. Gen8tyx was as much our baby as it was Sonderheim's!"

"And so?"

"...And so we decided to form our own company in Florida...Fuck, if Sonderheim was going to steal our futures from us, we were going to steal the company back from him! We weren't about to take it lying down."

"So what happened...?"

"...So, we planned to steal that which was rightfully ours anyway, and to download all the files onto our own computers and servers, and to copy all the information, data, and results that we needed to start again from scratch!"

"Isn't that totally illegal? Sounds like industrial espionage to me..."

"Technically maybe it is, but we really felt that it was Sonderheim that was stealing the information from us. It was our research. We did the work. In the past few years Sonderheim had become nothing more than a figurehead...he was more of a politician than a scientist!"

"So what went wrong?"

"Nothing...well, not immediately. We all succeeded in getting the information we wanted, and storing it off-line, on our own home computers... Put it this way, we got what we needed. And we proved the process worked...The Phase One trials were a success!"

"And what were they?"

"We all took the Orlando Treatment...We became walking examples of what it could achieve. The results were almost immediate, and everyday it becomes more apparent ...better...more effective...Kerrin, it's incredible!"

"Then what went wrong? Why did everyone start dying?"

"Because Roberts sold us out. Shit...I knew that Roberts knew more than he was telling us...something else was going down that we didn't know about...I started to do my own research...Do you know that I owned 5% of the Gen8tyx shares? I still do. Well, Sonderheim tried to force me to sell them, and then it all started to make sense. Suddenly I knew what this was all about...and how much danger we were all in. Then Henry chickened out. He knew what was happening too. I knew he did! He came round to see me one evening. He told me he'd had a change of heart...we had a big argument...He said it was unethical what we were going to do, argued that it was wrong, truth of the matter was he was just shit scared... Like I was..."

"Why? What was happening? What was Roberts going to do?"

"Henry threatened to tell Sonderheim about what we had done, and what we were going to do...The fool...I told him that if he did that he'd put all our lives at risk...By that time we knew that Sonderheim was messing around with some pretty heavy people. And they weren't exactly likely to put up with us doing our own thing. If Sonderheim wanted to stop us, he'd have no choice but to kill us all! I told him...I bloody warned him...but he wouldn't listen!"

Alex was getting emotional. His face was becoming red, and his hands were gripping the beer bottle so tightly that the whites of his knuckles were showing.

"Who were these people Alex? And why would they kill you? Why?"

"Don't you see? They couldn't afford to let us live, knowing that we would make the whole Orlando Project public, knowing that we were all walking examples of what could be possible,... knowing that we knew enough to start our own company... Do you really think that a billion dollar company would simply make their best employees redundant...'Here, Mr Chief Scientist...here's a golden handshake...have a nice life...oh, and please...would you mind awfully if you don't use your expert knowledge and compete with us in the future?' Do you really believe that? For fuck's sake...They're not about to give you a golden handshake...they're going to give you the golden bullet...give each person a golden bullet in the head. Personally delivered with 'the Company's' gratitude! Kerrin, the days of redundancy are gone...in the future, if you're redundant, you're dead!"

It was a startling concept: the idea that a corporation would actually have key members of its own staff executed, rather than risking them going over to the competition or building a business to compete with their own!

Kerrin was silent. He sensed that Alex was just about to tell him something important. Alex was looking down at the table, his head bowed, his voice low, speaking almost in a whisper again.

"I had to do it. There was no choice..."

"What did you do Alex?"

"Henry was determined to tell Sonderheim, and I believed he would. The man had become a fool. He just couldn't see it! So,... I drove round to his house, to try and talk to him one more time, but as I got there I saw an ambulance leaving... I followed it to the hospital, but it wasn't till the next day that I found out that he'd tried to kill himself...Mrs Roberts was a mess... According to the hospital, Henry was in a coma...Fuck, things were getting way too intense..." Alex paused for a second, shook his head, then lifted his beer and took a long drink.

"I don't really know what happened...or why he tried to kill himself...but all I could think about was that if he came out of the coma, if he hadn't already told Sonderheim what was going on, then he would do just as soon as he could speak...I knew that I had to make sure that he didn't talk to anyone...What would you do? It was like a golden opportunity had been given to me!" He looked at Kerrin, almost pathetically, his eyes searching Kerrin's for approval.

"So what did you do Alex?"

"I went to the lab, got some TertraZyamide 236,...a commercial muscle relaxant we use routinely in lab experiments,...and I just walked into the hospital dressed in my lab gear...no one stopped me...it was too easy...Henry wouldn't even have felt it...he died in his sleep...and no one would ever suspect anything was wrong...Kerrin, it was him or us!"

"Are you telling me that you killed Henry Roberts? It was you?" Kerrin couldn't believe what he was hearing.

Alex looked him straight in the eyes.

"This is completely off the record...you'll never be able to prove anything...and I'm not coming back to the States. I'm staying here. Henry would have died anyway. I was just making sure. Making sure that he wouldn't get the rest of us killed!"

"Did you kill him, Alex?"

"Yes...Yes, I did."

Kerrin was stunned. Of course, it would be impossible for Kerrin to prove anything against Alex...even if he wanted to. And yet, from what he was saying, he could understand why he had done it. He even believed that Alex had genuinely acted in self-defence, in an attempt to save the lives of his friends.

"..Then Sam died..." Alex said, looking straight into Kerrin's eyes. "...then Mike ...and I realised that I'd been too late. Henry had already told Sonderheim before he died. After that, I knew I had to get out quickly, otherwise they'd kill me too. So I disappeared. But knowing that from now on that I'll have to live, day in and day out, with the guilt that I've taken another human life for no reason..."

He was silent for a while. Then he continued.

"...You know, I thought about it afterwards and figured out that maybe Henry had tried to kill himself because he realised too late that he'd put the death sentence out on the others and he couldn't live with the guilt...Or maybe Sonderheim had tried to kill him too. The first 'suicide'...In which case, Henry was a dead man anyway. If I hadn't killed him, Sonderheim would have finished him off later."

This all didn't bear thinking about. Kerrin looked away from Alex, gazing down the street, and staring at the moon without really seeing it.

A car drove down the road, heading out of town in the opposite direction from Cape Town. The noise brought Kerrin back, and he turned to face Alex again. That so many people had died to protect the secret of the work they had done at Gen8tyx...Whatever they had been working on had to be special. Very special indeed.

"Alex, I need you to tell me about the Orlando Project. What was it that you developed or discovered that was so valuable that Gen8tyx was willing to kill its employees to protect its secret getting out?"

"Perhaps if I tell you Kerrin, perhaps then you will understand me more. You won't judge me so harshly for what I did? Maybe then you'll understand that I didn't just kill Henry for ourselves, to save our own lives. I did it to save humanity!..." Alex drunk the rest of the beer, and pushed the empty bottle to the side of the table.

"Gen8tyx was a brilliant company to work for at the beginning. Fantastic. David Sonderheim was one of the most outstanding Geneticists in his field...and when he asked me to come and work for him, it was literally an offer I couldn't turn down. The rest of the team were brilliant too. Each one was handpicked by Sonderheim. The best of the best... And Sonderheim really enthused us all. Right from the start everyone knew that what we were doing could really make a difference...could save lives...could even maybe one day change the world..."

"...We started off looking at how genetics could help us find a cure for Alzheimer's and Parkinson's disease, but then when Sam Cohen joined us we started a new field, looking at stem-cell technologies. It was a really exciting time...we all gave up our social lives, started practically living in the labs. For four years we pushed back the boundaries of science. Soon we believed we knew how to cure Alzheimer's, and had found a way how to rid the world of Parkinson's, and then,...then came the chance discovery that changed everything!"

"You found a cure to Alzheimer's?" Kerrin interrupted Alex, incredulous of what he was hearing. His own father had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's, and although he had lived with it for five years, for the last two years of his life, his father hadn't known who he was or who his relatives were. The disease had killed his father long before his body had finally stopped functioning.

"Yes...but that's trivial in comparison to what we discovered next! Mike Gilbert was the one who noticed it. He's the one who should get the credit. It may even go down as the single most important discovery in the field of genetics and medicine ever. You see, one day, while looking at..."

A car drove down the middle of the street. It slowed down as it approached the veranda outside the hotel where Kerrin and Alex were sitting. Kerrin was too engrossed in listening to Alex to notice a figure leaning out of the back near-side passenger window. He was too mesmerised by Alex's revelation to hear the loud click of metal as the person in the car flicked the safety catch off the Ingram Sub-machine Pistol, and depressed the trigger.

Alex Swinton was lifted off his seat and thrown against the wall of the hotel, his head bursting open and his face disappearing in a cloud of red and grey.

His legs caught the underside of the table, flicking it up and into Kerrin, knocking him backwards onto the wooden floorboards of the veranda, a spray of bullets passing over his head as he fell. He lay on the ground, stunned and dazed, but as his brain picked up the sound of a car engine braking, he glanced at the road and saw the car swinging round and heading back up the road towards them.

Too slow to react or move for cover, he watched helplessly as the car came closer, a gun protruding from the other passenger window.

A full view of the car was obscured by one of the wooden beams which ran alongside the outside of the veranda, forming a fence bordering the restaurant, but peering between the bottom rung and the wooden floor Kerrin could make out the faces of two people in the car as it drove past. Both faces were looking out the window anxiously, checking to make sure their victims had been killed.

Kerrin didn't recognise the man in the front of the car behind the wheel. As he drove past his face was in the shade, and aside from his blonde hair, he couldn't distinguish any real detail. But the woman on the near side holding the gun was familiar. Very familiar indeed.

It was the lady who had flirted with him in Business Class the night before.

\--------------------

As the car drove toward the restaurant Laura breathed deeply, trying to control her racing heart.

The thought of the impending kill excited her. She felt strangely aroused.

As they drove through town for the first time, she had noticed Kerrin talking to Alex on the veranda of the restaurant. That Kerrin had already hooked up with Alex was something she hadn't reckoned with.

She had to think quickly...What had Swinton already told Graham? How long had they been together? Was it too late? Their mission was to find Swinton, interrogate him and then dispose of him, but they had to stop him talking to Graham at all costs. They couldn't waste a minute more.

"Turn round. We have to kill Swinton now!" she ordered Dirk.

"Are you mad? We could be seen!"

"We have no choice. Swinton is talking to Graham as we speak. We have to kill him before he tells him too much."

Dirk swung the car around on the open highway a few minutes past the last house in the main street, pulling over to the side of the dusty road facing in the direction of town. He got out and walked round to the trunk of the car, lifting up a false bottom and opening up a hidden compartment beneath the spare tyre. They had transferred the weapons from the van to the car before leaving Cape Town, choosing to travel with the faster car rather than the larger van.

Dirk slipped a magazine into the Ingram, and took a bundle of extra ammunition clips out of a box in the secret compartment. He closed the trunk, and tossed the extra magazine to Laura.

"Have you used a Ingram before?" he asked almost patronisingly.

"Yes." She took it off him, examining the deadly weapon in her hands, before climbing back into the back seat of the car. "Let's go...but slow up as you get to the restaurant...We'll hit them on the way past, then turn and drive back to make sure he's dead."

Dirk put the manual into gear and drove off.

As the restaurant came up on their left side, Laura wound down the window and leant out, arms outstretched and ready to absorb the recoil from the rapid fire. Apart from Alex Swinton and Kerrin Graham, there was no one else on the veranda, and Swinton was on the side of the table nearest them as they approached. She took aim, flicked the safety catch off, and depressed the trigger.

A hail of death erupted from the muzzle of the gun, and despite trying to anticipate the recoil, the kickback from the weapon pushed her backwards onto the rear passenger seat.

Dirk turned and laughed at her.

"Quick, turn around...NOW!" Laura shouted, pulling herself up. "Did I get him?"

"Yes. Lifted him clean off his feet and spread him against the restaurant wall."

The car skidded, and spun around in the road, the squealing of the brakes echoing loudly off the sides of the buildings in the main street. Laura struggled back up into a sitting position, the muzzle of the gun protruding once more from the window. The car shifted forwards again and pulled up slowly beside the restaurant. Alex was dead, his head blown clean off and his torso lying quivering on the floor against the far wall. Laura turned her attention to Kerrin.

"Shit...You've shot Kerrin too! You were ordered to leave him alone!" Dirk shouted.

Laura looked quickly at the body of Kerrin on the floor, the dining table lying on top of his chest and his legs. It was a brief look, but in those few milliseconds their eyes met and Kerrin was looking directly back at her.

"No. No. He's okay...He's alive, I don't think I hit him...Quick, get us out of here. This place will be swarming in a few minutes..."

Without any further bidding, Dirk put his foot down hard on the accelerator, the wheels spinning for a second before they eventually found traction and propelled the car out of town. As soon as they were underway, Dirk pulled the cell phone out of his pocket, and dialled a number.

"Marieke? Mission complete. Call the chopper in... NOW...to the second agreed rendezvous point! We'll be there in ten minutes...TEN MINUTES...Do you understand?..."

Minutes later, they swung over onto a dirt track, and headed towards the ocean. When they got to the beach, Dirk and Laura jumped out just as a helicopter came in from the sea, and hovered just above the sand.

Laura and Dirk ran around the car, quickly emptying a couple of cans of gasoline over it. Grabbing their bags and the other weapons from the trunk, they ran to the waiting helicopter and jumped aboard.

"Okay...go!" Dirk ordered to the pilot sitting in the cockpit.

As the helicopter began to rise above the ground, Dirk broke open the first aid kit inside the cabin, and leaning forward out of the open helicopter door, he fired a distress flare at the abandoned car.

There was a rush of flame, and a flash of heat as a fireball burst from the car, dark smoke billowing into the sky above.

"Take me directly to the airport," Laura shouted above the din of the rotating blades. "There's still time to make the last flight to Jo'burg, and from there I'll take the first flight to Washington tomorrow morning."

Fifteen minutes later, they landed beside an obscure hanger on the outskirts of the airport. Grabbing her bag, Laura dashed across the tarmac and made her way into the main hall. Luckily, the gate for the last flight to Johannesburg was still open, and she managed to get herself a ticket with some time to spare.

She looked at her watch, and then finding a seat far enough from everyone else in the departure lounge so as not to be overheard, she dialled an international number on her cell phone. It would be about two o'clock at home. Hopefully she would be lucky and catch him at his desk.

The phone picked up on the second ring.

"Hello, Rodriguez!" the man answered.

"Agent Rodriguez. Hi! It's your favourite flirt Agent Samuels here. I need you to do a favour for me!"

"Anything for you darling...anything..."

"Good, but I need this done NOW, okay?"

"Okay, what do you want done?"

"Last night I flew down to Cape Town in South Africa. I took the overnight flight from Washington D.C. with South African Airways. I sat in Business Class, seat 2B. I want you to hack into the South African Airways reservation system, find the flight details, and the passenger list and erase my name. Make it like I was never there. Okay? "

"Okay..."

"Yes, but can you do it in the next half hour? I need to know..."

"Maybe...if you promise me a reward..."

"Stop fooling around Agent Rodriguez...Can you do it or not?"

"Yes, Agent Samuels. I can. It won't be a problem. But what about border control? Did they make you fill in a visa form and leave it with immigration control?"

"Shit, yes, you're right..."

"No problem...leave that to me too...I'm good...Very good..."

"Then please get on with it...and maybe, just maybe...one day..."

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You have now completed "The Orlando File - Book 1".

To read Chapters 23 - 44 please download Book 2.

When Kerrin finally discovers the truth and secrets contained within 'The Orlando File', you will learn a little known medical fact that could extend your life by an estimated 20 years... You will also read the surprise ending in which Kerrin is faced with a choice that no man should ever have to make, and everyone who reads this book must ask the same question:

"What would I do, if I were him?"

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To Read the rest of "The Orlando File"...

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If you have enjoyed "The Orlando File : **Book 1** " and would like to read **Book 2** , where the story continues and concludes, please return to the internet and search for "The Orlando File : Book 2".

A Personal Note from the Author

" _Hi,_

Thanks for reading this novel. I am really flattered that you chose one of my books to read, from all of the millions of books on the internet. I hope you enjoyed it. I would love to hear from you if you did!

_If you would like to be kept informed of any new books I will be publishing, may I invite you to sign up to my mailing list at_ CLICK HERE _._

Good luck with your next choice of book!

Kind regards,

Ian C.P. Irvine."

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Please look out for these others books below by IAN C.P.IRVINE:

Other Books by Ian Irvine

Haunted from Within

21st Century Pirates Inc.

Crown of Thorns: The Race to Clone Jesus Christ

London 2012 : What If?

The Sleeping Truth : A Romantic Medical Thriller

Alexis Meets Wiziwam the Wizard

If you have any comments, please contact the author at :- iancpirvine@hotmail.co.uk
