Mark One Read online

  “Thank you, Mark,” commented Schmidt as his driver followed the SWAT vehicle out of Jekyll Yards. “I know you could’ve disappeared off our radar, and it’d be an easy option for you. However, we need your evidence. While it may not be critical, it completes the picture for us, and makes prosecution more straightforward. MayAnn and I have discussed you, needless to say, and we will, if you want, arrange for your protection under the Witness Protection Program. We can discuss that further, after you debrief MayAnn and me, and after we give you some more details of the people involved. We may also ask for your assistance. Now I hear you had exciting times yesterday?”

  “Far too much,” Mark said. “I was enjoying, for once, being part of a normal environment—well, normal in comparison with LifeLong. You know, making friends, seeing real families, being accepted as normal, relaxing.”

  “An attractive proposition for you?”

  “Yes. Attractive, very attractive. However, I suspect she will not be in my reality.”

  “No? Robin seemed a very nice girl. Enamored, if I may say so.”

  “I agree, she is a very nice girl. She saw me almost kill that guy yesterday—she stopped me, to be truthful. Something switched on and I just took him apart, step by step.”

  “I read the medical report.”

  “Then you know what I mean. I was designed to be a—a genetically engineered warrior, according to Dr. Otto—a killer, in other words. I am not sure I can avoid my destiny.”

  ***

  Chapter 22

  Mark followed Schmidt into the meeting room, where he was greeted warmly by MayAnn.

  “Welcome, Mark. I’m relieved to see you safe and well.”

  He returned her hug. “Congratulations—I hear you have a very senior role.”

  MayAnn grimaced. “With great responsibilities come great expectations. I must admit I enjoy the challenge and the sheer scope of the assignment. Now, what’s Archimedes told you?”

  “Arch—oh, Schmidt. Not much.” He looked at Schmidt. “He said we should wait for a joint discussion.”

  “Good. Let’s start. You know Senator Boothby’s the instigator of the raid on LifeLong? We’re still looking for him. Also, we’re still looking for the last of the LifeLong attackers. Boothby’s managed to recruit some Russians—we believe they’re hiding him. We’ve identified one or two related crimes where they’ve been involved. We have plans underway to cut off Boothby’s funding, so the Russians may give him up when he runs out of money. We’ve numerous investigations happening, and have made a number of arrests. There you are, a very brief briefing, I’m afraid. We might be able to provide more details later, depending on what role we agree on, for you.”

  “I understand. I suppose the significant requirements, from your perspective, are my statement of what happened, and of course, some background of LifeLong?”

  Schmidt spoke up. “Yes, if we can first have your statement about the raid by the paramilitary group. We’ll record what you say, both video and sound. Well, actually we’ve been recording since you entered the room. We want a time sequence of events. We want you to step through the raid from your perspective. If you can go from beginning to end, and then we’ll follow up with a question and answer session. OK?”

  “OK, yes. I can do that. However, I’d like to know—it’s important for me to know—what’s going to happen to me?”

  Schmidt reflected for a moment, looked at MayAnn, and then back at Mark. “You need have no concern about your responses to the attack by the paramilitary group. Based on the evidence we have, you defended yourself, the complex, and the people—your parents and their employees. There’s absolutely no reason to suggest you’ve committed any offense. We—and this includes the Director—consider you to be an innocent victim. Does that help?”

  “Yes. So I’m here as a witness, and you’ve no legal interest in me once you have my statement? Of course, I’ll need to appear in any court case to give evidence?”

  “A clear statement and I agree with it. MayAnn?”

  “Yes, I’m able to go on record, I agree. I want more than the direct events, I’d like background as well. I’ll discuss that once we’ve covered the main subject of this meeting.”

  “OK, it sounds good. As long as I don’t need an attorney.”

  “No, definitely not. Are you ready to start?” asked Schmidt.

  The session, with its flow of questions, seemed endless, Mark thought, and it was close to midnight when they finished. It had been more painful than he had expected, reliving that night, seeing in his mind the bodies of his parents and the other victims. He had no qualms about the men he had killed, no pain at all from those memories.

  “Mark, thanks for providing your viewpoint and the sequence of events.” Schmidt put down his pencil. “We’d obviously worked through most of the details, but it was a patchwork picture with no way to say this was first, this was second.”

  “Yes, I think we’ve a very good description. Mark, let me say again, how sorry I am about your parents.”

  “I’d like to add my condolences, again, as well.”

  “Thank you. Thank you both. Some of the details tonight were very difficult to relive.”

  “I think we’ve done well. MayAnn, what do you plan now?” Schmidt was letting the FBI agent take the lead.

  “There is one major loose end—Boothby. Mark, you’re at risk until Boothby’s arrested and dealt with. We want to make you an offer—help us trap Boothby, and we’ll provide you with witness protection. Once you’re under the Witness Protection Program, you’ll disappear, completely—Mark Midway no longer exists. One result—Boothby won’t be able to make good his threat to kill you. There’s a bonus—that’ll hide you from government organizations, which undoubtedly are dying to explore your genetic background. What do you think?”

  Mark knew he was at risk. Even if Boothby was arrested and jailed, he would always be fearful. More so, of course, if Boothby remained at large. However, he had a dread of being involved with a government department, even if it was the Witness Protection Program. Certainly, disappearing under witness protection seemed one way to resolve a number of future problems, but he just was not certain it was the path he wanted to follow. There always would be a trace, if someone wanted to find him.

  “I don’t think I’ll make a decision about Witness Protection yet. I’ll accept FBI protection while you look for Boothby, and help if I can. Ask me later, after you’ve arrested Boothby.”

  “Very good. Now, it’s just after midnight, time to conclude this session.” MayAnn signed off from the video and sound recordings and switched off the systems. “We’ve arranged a safe house for you. You’ll be under guard, the Witness Protection team has loaned us some Federal Marshals. Tomorrow, will 10 a.m. here, work for you?”

  Mark yawned. “Oh, sorry. Yes, that’s OK with me.”

  ~~~

  While MayAnn had promised a late morning start for Mark, she and Schmidt commenced their day far earlier. Schmidt had arranged for the federal marshals to drive Mark to their Quantico office in time for their meeting.

  MayAnn’s first task was to review the status of the subpoenas to be issued to the correspondent banks which handled US transactions for the Grand Cayman bank where Boothby had his accounts. It had been a simple task to identify the New York and Miami bank branches involved. In each case, the bank’s head office compliance manager was ready to assist as soon as they had a documented legal obligation. Boothby’s and other suspects’ names had been added to the Blacklist—the Blocked Persons List—of terrorists and suspected terrorists, which added a wider cast of the net across both American and International banking jurisdictions.

  “The subpoenas will be delivered today,” said MayAnn.

  “We’ve already advised these two correspondent banks of the additional names on the list. The list—technically it’s the Designated Nationals (SDN) and Blocked Persons List—is immediately available to banks from OFAC. I anticipate a deluge of data
when banks’ compliance sections dig into their records,” said Schmidt.

  ‘We’ll need a new task force just to handle the paperwork.”

  “My Treasury contacts on the regulatory compliance side have volunteered to assist. OFAC people have promised their help too. It’ll take a couple of days for results to start filtering through, though.”

  “We should have Boothby cut off from funds within a week, unless he’s arranged accounts in false names. We’ll soon dig those out, though, with all the information Pickover has provided. We know the different names Boothby used to set up his accounts. His Russian friends will drop him quickly if he can’t pay his bills. Also, once we’ve some feedback from banks’ anti-money laundering processes, we’ll be able to follow his credit card and ATM activity.” MayAnn was very optimistic.

  “Good. That’s covered the banking side of the search. How’s the progress with Bob—what’s his name—the guy who escaped from Midway’s extermination campaign?”

  “According to fingerprints on the second wrecked SUV, his name’s Roberto Francis Wilde. Ex-military. Discharged without honor—he attempted to set up an extreme Christian religious group while in Iraq, and was suspected of involvement in unlawful killings. Did you add his name to the Blacklist?”

  “Yes. He’ll be disappointed when he hits his local ATM, once the update takes effect,” said Schmidt.

  Their discussion was interrupted by Mark’s arrival. Schmidt looked at his watch and shook his head.

  “The day is almost done and we’ve hardly started. Good morning, Mark.”

  “Good morning,” added MayAnn “Coffee’s there, help yourself. Archimedes always seems to find donuts, so help yourself to those as well.”

  “Good morning. I’ll have a coffee and leave the donuts. I’m early—the temporary pass worked, the marshals arranged for someone to escort me here. Are you ready for me?”

  “Yes. Remember you’ll need an escort if you leave this room. Security—their rules apply to all visitors except FBI personnel,” said MayAnn. She pointed to Schmidt. “There’s one exception—Archimedes. I think he blackmails them.”

  “Lies. It’s just that they’re influenced by my handsome face.”

  Mark spluttered into his coffee. “Please give me advance warning, next time.”

  “All right. Mark, take a seat. We’ll try to bring you into the play, especially if we’re going to make use of you. First—MayAnn, did you think of any more questions for Mark?”

  “Only about your background. How did Dr. Weinek obtain your identification documents?”

  “Dr. Otto never said,” Mark replied. “He gave them to me about a year ago and said they were for emergencies. I really didn’t know what he meant, and just held them in my personal papers.”

  “Someone did a very good job—the driver’s license we checked is genuine. At least in the sense it’s state issued—in this case New Hampshire—and the details match the state’s database. Our clandestine people say the documents are all originals, not forgeries. You father had an excellent source. Do you know who it was?”

  “No, he never said.”

  Schmidt asked the next question. “You retrieved hard drives from the safe—we found your fingerprints—what do the drives contain?”

  “They hold files covering Dr. Otto’s and Dr. Anna’s laboratory work, including details of the people—the embryos—who were killed in the laboratory.” A very sad expression crossed his face. “They would’ve been a family for me. I won’t give up those files, not without a major fight.”

  “I’m sorry to make you relive this. You can keep the drives, as long as they don’t contain details germane to our investigation activities or prosecution needs. Agreed, MayAnn?”

  “Yes. Besides, it’d create a technical feeding frenzy if we released LifeLong’s proprietary information to either the media, the government, or the public.”

  “Thank you.”

  “What can you remember of your life prior to your adoption by the Weineks?” asked MayAnn

  “Very little. It was—it seems it was ages ago—when I was about six or seven years old. I remember being in a run-down house, with a drunken tutor—he was supposed to teach me to speak English correctly, and reading and other subjects. The housekeeper used to beat me. Then a stranger came and took me away to Amsterdam. I remember I was so happy when he bought me new clothes—I was impressed they had original store labels. Then a lady—she said she was my grandmother, if anyone asked—took me on a long flight. I think we first went to Canada. I don’t know where we landed. There was a second flight, shorter—I think to Washington. Then we went to Dr. Otto and Dr. Anna.”

  “This was what—six years ago?” asked MayAnn.

  “Yes, I think so. Six or seven years.”

  “I expect tracing your arrival into US will be an impossible task. We don’t know the date—or even the year, we don’t know the names you and woman traveled under, what passports, or the flights. Darn.” MayAnn liked to solve puzzles, and was disappointed this one was unlikely to easily solved. She thought for a moment. “What do you know about your genetic structure?”

  “Dr. Otto was trying to identify and map all the changes. It was a work in progress. I know I mature at twice an average person’s rate. That’s both mental and physical maturity.”

  “How old do you think you are?”

  “I think I was born about ten or twelve years ago. It’s difficult to be precise about my maturity level. I suppose I’m in my early twenties.”

  “What are the differences—that is, between you and an average person?”

  “You mean apart from growing faster?”

  MayAnn nodded.

  “I’ve very fast reflexes. I learn very quickly. Above average strength and physical ability, like running, as you know.”

  “I remember, you set us a challenge. Do you have specific details?”

  “Dr. Otto was trying to measure the differences—there’s probably a file on the drives, with the details.”

  “Do you have negative—symptoms, I suppose?”

  “I get attacks of extreme pain. Very debilitating. Growing pains, for sure. Dr. Otto thought they’d stop once I reached my adult size.”

  “These pains are continuing? Are they getting worse?”

  “Yes, I suffered an attack last week. The worst one.”

  “Perhaps brought on by stress?” asked Schmidt.

  “Possibly.”

  “Will you continue to age at this same rate?”

  “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

  There was silence for a long time.

  “Any more questions?” asked Schmidt of MayAnn.

  “No, I think I’ve covered mine. Of course, Mark, if I do think of any, I’ll let you know.”

  Schmidt smiled. “She is tenacious, so be warned. I think you covered my blank spots as well.”

  MayAnn focused back on her primary objective. “I gave you a very brief and simplistic update last night. I’ll repeat my question for you—will you help us catch Boothby?”

  “Yes, just let me know what you want me to do,” said Mark.

  “Good. You’ll be our sacrificial lamb. Or tethered goat. Whatever phrase works. Seriously, we’ll use you as bait to catch Boothby. This is going to be dangerous. My Assistant Director was shot by a Russian. One of the men you shot was killed while he was in intensive care, by a Russian, presumably to stop him from talking. Boothby’s daughter was kidnapped, again by Russians, although we rescued her. My point—this is a dangerous assignment.”

  “MayAnn, I’ll be at risk whether I’m out there on my own,” he waved towards the world outside the Quantico environment, “or working with you and Schmidt. I want to take this battle to—to my enemies—at least, that’s how I think of them.”

  “Good. I’ve another question—would you like to work for the FBI? You could do that, I’m sure the Director would fast-track your application.”

  “No, no. I’m first in this line,�
�� protested Schmidt. “Mark’s been doing stellar work for me, since the training course.”

  MayAnn bared her teeth. “But you’d have to give him details of who you work for.”

  “There is that. Hmmm.”

  “I—I don’t think I’m ready to answer either of you.”

  “I understand. Just remember I asked first,” said MayAnn. “Right. Let’s work through how we can set up a trap for Boothby.”

  ***

  Chapter 23

  Boothby paced the floor of the small living room, anger at the world coloring his thoughts, biasing his deliberations and derailing his thought processes. The Russians had provided him with an apartment—nothing like his real home, of course. It was one of their safe houses, and the privilege of staying here was costing him an extraordinary amount. He had complained about the cost. His Russian caretaker had shrugged and turned away. Boothby fumed. Of course his wife was enjoying their home, while he had to hide here, like a criminal.

  The apartment was small, just two bedrooms, one occupied by his caretaker and one for him. The caretaker was also a guard, to protect him in case of discovery, although Boothby was starting to suspect the man was more like his prison guard. It was the ignominy of it all that was most galling. He was a U. S. Senator, damn it, and he had friends, friends who should assist him in his time of need. Just two days ago, he had telephoned one of them, another Senator, a member of his action group. As soon as the coward heard his voice, he had stated Boothby was a wanted criminal, and had disconnected the call. Boothby had been incandescent with fury at the betrayal.

  The Russians at this stage seemed to be his only friends, although he was aware their friendship was driven by avarice and secured by the dollars he could pay them. He had found Russians very effective and wondered why he had utilized Reverend Barker’s people. Russians were far more efficient. The way they eliminated Casey while he was under guard in hospital was a prime example. Although he had to admit they had their weaknesses. For example, they were still looking for this Midway abomination. The FBI had rescued his daughter, and two of their men tasked with killing Pickover had been shot by the FBI, and one was dead and the other injured and captured. On second thoughts, they may not be that perfect, but they were all he had.