The Ghost Pattern

…43

Dr. Gary Davis watched closely as Adenauer’s elegant hands mixed the compound ingredients quickly, after measuring them on the digital micro-scale. Every step he took in preparing the compound he documented clearly in a notebook, each step listed in detail under the heading “Compound 11.” It was the eleventh formulation they were trying. If I were to see him out of context, Gary thought, it would seem like he’s in his own lab in Germany.

Then Adenauer started preparing the capsules. He made ten of them, putting them in a small jar.

“Why so many?” Gary asked.

“I can be more precise mixing a larger quantity of compound, you know that,” Adenauer replied, visibly irritated to be challenged.

“I only want to test on two subjects, that’s it,” Gary stated firmly.

“No, we’ll need more. We’ll raise suspicions if we test only two,” Dr. Teng intervened.

“I’ll handle the suspicions,” Gary replied, sounding more confident than he felt. “If we could at least attempt like we’re talking about human beings here, that would be great,” he snapped, sarcasm cutting through his voice and glinting in his eyes.

“Do you think I can ever forget that?” Adenauer said, keeping his voice low but loaded with anger. “Who do you think I am?”

Under Gary’s surprised eyes, Adenauer’s angry glare turned to immense sadness.

“I’m ready to die right here, today, if that removes a single other human being from harm’s way,” Adenauer continued somberly. “Next time they want to kill someone to make a point, I will volunteer. I am ready.”

“Theo!” Marie-Elise exclaimed, getting One-Eye to lift his eyes and scrutinize their small group. “You can’t do that!” she continued. “We need you! We all need one another!”

“It’s pointless,” Adenauer replied calmly. “My decision has been made.” His eyes stared somewhere in the distance, looking past them, toward the back of the lab. “No one will come for us… we’re all doomed. I will die anyway, so I’ve made up my mind to die before loading my conscience with more harm done to these innocent people. I can’t live with that.”

“None of us can,” Gary replied, “but we have to. Have you considered what will happen to the other passengers if we give up and they no longer need them, or us?”

No one replied. Gary looked at Adenauer encouragingly. “Come on, Adenauer,” he said, “let’s put our heads together and figure out how to survive, while causing the minimum amount of damage possible.”

“What if I’m wrong?” Adenauer asked. “What if this is wrong, what if it’s deadly? How would I live with myself then?” he added, pointing at the jar holding the ten capsules.

“It’s a risk we have to take,” Gary replied. “The fact that we’re trying keeps them alive, don’t forget that.”

Yet Gary could see Adenauer’s point, and, for the most part, he felt the same way. How much longer could they resist, and to what end? Was there any shred of logical hope left? What scenario made sense? They were buried underground, in an abandoned bunker, most likely being exposed to some form of residual radiation, hidden someplace so deep and so remote that no one could ever find them. He couldn’t think of any scenario, any theory that made a rescue even remotely likely to happen.

As for an escape, they weren’t even close. They were empty-handed in front of thugs wielding machine guns and flaunting their lack of conscience. The pilot had no idea where the plane was. That sack of shit had told them they’d landed in the middle of a forested swamp, so remote from any city that they could be walking for tens, maybe hundreds of miles before finding help. And what help? More Russians? Nope, they didn’t have a single card in this game.

Yet for the Phoenix, Arizona-born, Gary Davis, former Boy Scout and Afghanistan veteran, losing was not an option. Neither was captivity. He would think of something, he’d find a way. Until then, regardless of the cold, bare facts, he couldn’t afford to spiral into depression and hopelessness.

He made an effort to gather his strength, then approached One-Eye and said, “We need two test subjects, male. Give them these,” he added, handing him two capsules with the newest formulation.

“Why two? We have hundreds,” One-Eye asked in heavily accented, barely understandable English.

“We need to run aerosolized tests, and for those we’ll need more people. We can’t waste them. Do you understand what aerosolized means?”

One-Eye grunted and left the lab, taking the capsules with him.

Gary sighed and clenched his fists, shoving them in his pockets. There was nothing else he could do… not at that point, anyway. He went back to the table and turned on the monitors.

There was no sound, so they couldn’t hear the two men screaming and grunting as they fought the guards who quickly overpowered them. One of the Russians would grab them from behind, immobilizing their arms, while the other would grab them by the nose and force their mouths open, then shove the capsule down their throats. Then they’d force their mouths shut and their heads tilted back, so they would have no other option but to swallow the pill or choke to death. It wasn’t a fair fight; the passengers were no match for the guards, whose physical builds were testimonials to years of lifting weights and popping steroids.

Bogdanov joined them in the lab, watching the monitors intently. Gary had a hard time keeping a straight face in the presence of so-called Dr. Bogdanov. What kind of doctor was he? But then again, even Josef Mengele, the infamous “Angel of Death” at Auschwitz had been a properly licensed physician.

For a few long minutes, nothing happened. The two men stood almost immobile, leaning against the walls of their cell. Then, slowly, they started to move, and the people watching the monitors could see them talking to each other, although they couldn’t hear what was being said.

The two men starting moving, almost in circles, around each other, while their postures changed from neutral to aggressive. Their upper bodies leaned forward, their arms held at a distance from their bodies, half-bent, ready to strike, their knees slightly flexed.

Then suddenly, violence erupted. The two men jumped at each other’s throats, trying to strangle while kicking each other. One, dressed in a dirty, blue shirt, was visibly larger than the other, and was gaining ground rapidly in the unfair fight. He slammed his opponent, who couldn’t have been more than five feet, seven inches, and 175 pounds, against the wall, then strangled him with one hand, while with the other the pummeled his stomach repeatedly. The other one’s face turned a dark shade of red, and his powerless hands tried to fight off the suffocating grip of his assailant.

“Let’s stop this,” Gary yelled, taking a few steps toward the Russian. “Bogdanov!”

One-Eye shoved his machine gun barrel into Gary’s side, forcing him to back off.

“Please, let’s stop them, we have what we need,” Adenauer pleaded.

“No,” Bodganov replied. “Let the test run its course. I have a report to write.”