Authors: J. A. Faura
At the same time Neill was coming down on his deputies,
Steven Loomis was gathering his thoughts at the law offices of Max Zeidler and Drew Willis, his two principal defense attorneys. They had
been going over expert witness testimony all day for almost two weeks, grilling every single potential expert witness in every conceivable way. They even had two litigators that had been senior prosecuting attorneys for the US Attorney’s office do the cross examinations. Both were brutal litigators who had well-deserved reputations for ripping expert witnesses to shreds. Steven looked out the window of the boardroom he had parked himself in. Even this high up he could see where the media was parked all over the city. They had basically erected a temporary, mobile city around the building and wherever they could find a place near the building. Initially he had wondered whether he had made the right choice going with such a large law firm, but now he was truly thankful he had decided as he had.
Their resources were amazing and the legal talent was absolutely top notch. Willis was new to the firm, but was an experienced litigator who had established, maintained and grown his own small law firm before making the decision to t
ake Max Zeidler up on his offer to come
onboard. With offices in ten countries, forty-one partners and more than 300 associates
,
the law firm of Corliss, Zeidler and Kirk was large law firm even by New York standards.
Art Goodman, the CEO of Global Intelligence Consultants (GIC), the security assessment and consulting firm that Steven worked for as an executive vice-president, had referred Steven to them. He was widely believed to be the most likely successor to Goodman before all of this. General Art Goodman, Marine Corps (Ret.) was used to getting his way and he had gotten his way in this instance as well. It had not been much of a decision for Steven to make, he had not considered what lawyer he would eventually ask to represent him, so when the General suggested Zeidler and explained that his firm
was on retainer and that they billed GIC about $10 million dollars a year, Steven agreed to call them. Of course he’d had to wait until the right time to actually reach out to the lawyers. He had to get square with his family first, to make sure they were covered, really covered. He knew he was at risk of going away for a long time, maybe for life, and before he could make that kind a decision he needed to make sure they would be okay no matter what happened to him. He
was still not used to the level of media attention his case was getting. The truth was that none of them were, not even Zeidler who had litigated countless, extremely high profile trials. He could see the media stationed around just about every open spot for three
square blocks around the office, five square blocks around the courthouse and two square blocks around his house. It was an uncharacteristic move by the media that they listened when Steven had asked them to take it easy and give him and his family some room to breathe.
He thought that perhaps some of the people who were providing security for him had spoken to a few members of the media and suggested they might want to give Loomis some space. His children were at his in-laws’ house where media was also parked everywhere. In contrast to New York, however, Queensbury, a small town in Vermont,
could be easily covered and controlled by the security teams that were covering them. One team was very obvious and public, the other team was never seen, never heard, but they were covering all the blind spots that no security detail every covered. Both teams were made up of people that Steven and the General knew well. The boardroom he was in was a corner room, so he actually had two wall-length windows. He walked to the other window and looked over another part of the city, it was just about the same as the other side because the media was also parked everywhere. Steven knew how important these strategy and preparation sessions were; how important it was to prepare every expert witness, how important it was to prepare himself for being cross-examined and he was doing his best to do that and make sure his family was safe, but there was one thing that was getting in the way and by now he knew it was not going to change. Nigel Barlow, doctor Nigel Barlow, neuropsychologist, profiling consultant, scientist and the single most significant threat to humanity he had ever believed there could or would be. Steven had met with Barlow after Riche’s shooting because of the man’s insistence and, truth be told, because he had been a bit stir-crazy after being confined to his house for over a week. He had also done it because he believed Barlow was a scientist looking into the same science that Steven was actually researching at the time. Thirty seconds into their conversation, Steven knew that Barlow was all the things he had believed he was and far, far more. Barlow had reached out to Steven because he had wanted more information about Riche, about what Steven had seen and experienced at the warehouse where Riche had brought all his victims, including Steven’ daughter Tracy. He wasn’t looking for science, he was looking for the things that could not be captured in a report, the things that made every single person, CSIs, police officers, everyone in that warehouse first shiver and then completely nauseous. When Steven had let Barlow know that he knew what he was after, Barlow had completely dropped his sham and let Steven know exactly what he was after and exactly what he was. He had been doing the same research all right, except that his purposes had been quite different from those of every other scientist working o
n the science. Barlow had
basically been alienated and excommunicated by the mainstream scientific community because he was thought to be unstable and even dangerous. He wanted to observe the subjects of the research in action, while they were on the hunt, regardless of what that meant for the person being hunted. Now, twenty years later, Barlow had established, developed and grown a network of individuals who he believed fit into the subspecies he and the other scientists had identified, Homo sapiens predaer or homo predator. Steven had not been the same since that meeting and what happened a few days after it. He had asked Cecil and Thurman Meeks, two operators he knew well to look into the guy’s background, where he was from, how much money he had, everything they could possibly find to help paint a full picture of the man. While Steven had been waiting for them to get back to him, Barlow had managed to knock Steven out with a shot of tranquilizer administered by a very skilled operative, taken him to a nondescript motel in New Jersey and let him know under no uncertain terms that he would leave Steven and his family alone, but he would expect the same courtesy from Steven. He had to agree to leave Barlow alone and let him go do whatever it was he did with no interference. He had let Steven know that if he found that someone was trying to look into his business
again, all bets would be off and his family would be the first to feel it. The fact that he had gotten the jump on Steven and that he had been able to register that two very skilled operators were looking into his business, let Steven know that the man had the resources and access to the talent and technology necessary to make that threat and carry through with it. So, here he was, preparing for trial and leaving Barlow alone, but he was never too far from Steven’s mind. He was also thinking about Diana, almost certainly not her real name, and what she had warned him about. If there was anyone who knew what Barlow was capable of, it wa
s Diana. She had been the operative
that Barlow had used to deliver the shot that knocked Steven out. She was clearly Special Forces, whether from the US or elsewhere
she was spec ops. He believed she was most likely Mossad. Her accent, her demeanor and the Star of David around her neck, made it almost certain that she was trained by the famed Israeli agency, their version of the CIA. She’d told him she was talking to him because she decided she did not want to be a part of whatever Barlow was planning. She had explained she had done a few jobs for Barlow in the past and that she did not know too much because everything the man did was compartmentalized. It made sense to Steven, that’s how you had to develop effective,
complex operations, by compartmentalizing and making sure each element could function independently of any other element. He wasn’t sure whether he believed everything the woman had said, but it
had sounded solid to Steven.
He had told his lawyers about what happened with Barlow because he believed that they could also be affected by what happened from that day forward, but he had told no one about Diana. He hadn’t told
his lawyers, he hadn’t told the General and he hadn’t told his wife. Well, he had placed a couple of calls earlier today to finally remedy that, at least the part about Barlow. He still wasn’t sure about what to say, if anything, about Diana. Since his encounter with Barlow, he had been really off in everything he did and he knew it was because he knew he should have told his wife what happened and he didn’t. She might not understand that the reason he had done that was because she was simply not ready to hear it.
That had changed now. Now she
was almost back to herself and they had
fallen into a rhythm, as much of a rhythm as the situation allowed for, so he knew it was time. He also knew it was time to tell the General. Goodman had done more for Steven and his family than anyone else in every sense. He was footing the bill for his defense, which would be well over a million dollars; he had covered the bail so Steven could wait for trial at his house instead of sitting in jail and more important than everything else, he had been there for Steven, emotionally, like a father would have been. The General was a father figure for Steven, who had grown up without a father. From the time Steven had arrived at GIC to the present, Goodman had taken a deep personal interest in Steven, his family and his career and throughout everything he done nothing but help all of them. So yeah, the time had come for Steven to come clean about everything;
almost
everything, in any case.
Nigel Barlow was thousands of miles away in Colorado. He had left New York immediately after his fact-finding session with Harvey Lynch. It had proven to be a waste of time, but it had served as a release for him, which made it not a
complete
waste of time. When he arrived, everything he had requested was ready. All his files had been encrypted and loaded into twenty-two separate jump drives, each representing one year of his work. He had then had his lawyers prepare documents to provide clear and minutely detailed instructions as to how his operations and his property were to be utilized. He had named various directors, each dedicated to a specific part of his enterprises
, each one of them would be handed one of the drives on the table. None had any influence or authority over another. They were to function independently only reporting in to the law firm to access funds, communicate with Barlow
and to continue to expand their reach, his reach. He had been crafting this structure over decades and now finally felt that it was time to truly implement what he had been planning all along. After a few years of doing his work, Barlow had realized that he would simply not be able to do everything himself, not if the work was to reach as far as Barlow intended it to reach. After some more time had passed, he realized that he needed to set things up in such a way that the work would continue, regardless of what happened to him and so for the next thirteen years he had begun to set things up. Over that time he had established distinct areas that he wanted to take his work to. Politics, entertainment, media, energy, military were among some of his principal areas of interest. Within each of them there were sub areas of interest. Within entertainment there was content development, production or talent.
Talent was his guilty pleasure. He had many accomplished and quite famous
performers in various areas that he was able to consult, all in the pursuit of his one original objective, of course. Likewise there were sub areas within politics, foreign policy, funding, elections, etc. They were all organized this way. Sometimes the different areas of interest would overlap. Politics and finance was a perfect example, energy and military was another and so on. He had kept meticulous records of all his work. Contacts, relationship to each, influence or financial worth, it was all in his files. He had read everything there was to read about J. Edgar Hoover. He felt a kinship with the former head of the FBI. They were both men whose life was dedicated to locating, cataloging and using
information to influence individuals that he
had an interest in.
That had included JFK and his brother Bobby, the Attorney General at the time. His filing system was based on his research of how Hoover had set up his confidential files. He had also become a master at using that information the way Hoover had used it when he had been alive, gathering the inner most secrets of those in power and then applying pressure. Or sending others to apply it. Hoover
had almost certainly been a Prime Force, one of the new species, Barlow was certain. Smart, ruthless, keenly aware of those with influence and how to utilize them should he ever need to. Never married, perhaps a homosexual, but that was nothing of consequence to any of his subjects. They satisfied their needs and desires as they saw fit, whether it was with a man or a woman was of no importance. Only when procreating would that play a role in their choice of partner. Barlow paused, put all the documents aside and left the drives on the desk where he had been sitting as he walked over to the massive window with the breathtaking view of the Rockies. That was an area where he really felt he had not made sufficient progress. The rise of a new species depended on the ability of that species to adapt and
procreate.
Without procreation history would look upon the new species as a random mutation, something that over time became extinct because nature had not intended for them to be alive in the first place. He couldn’t be too hard on himself, however, because he knew how difficult it was to find and nurture and guide one of them, let alone trying to find two of them and to get them to breed with each other. He had made some valiant efforts early on, utilizing genetic matching and a variety of other standardized tests to determine how suitable a woman was for some of his younger projects. There had even been a couple of instances where he had actually needed a suitable male. In almost every instance, however, their offspring appeared to be completely human, a remarkable human, but human nonetheless.
Almost
every instance. There were five offspring out there that showed incredible promise. He had maintained close contact with their parents and been apprised of every step of their education. He would be taking over their education very soon. He smiled at the thought. To be able to work with them from a young age was his dream, one of the things he had really hoped to be able to do at the outset. Still, five was far too low a number for what he now knew he would have to do. He had looked into Riche and what he had done because he had learned to look for certain elements in the situations he heard about and he thought that what had been happening in New York had the feel of something he might be interested in. But, before he could learn any more about Riche and what he had done, Steven Loomis had stepped in. Barlow had been initially disappointed when he had learned about what had happened to Riche, but fate had richly rewarded
him for his work and persistence with Loomis. What a fascinating turn of events that had been! There was something about Loomis, something that went beyond his training and experience as a Special Forces commander that Barlow could sense in the man. A certain intellectual flow just under the surface, something Barlow had sensed before in others, but in a very different context. Still, after the Riche incident, after Loomis had done what he had done, things had changed dramatically. The true objectives of Barlow’s entire body of work had been remarkably crystallized for him in the past few months. Everything he had worked for, all he risks, the ridicule he had endured from those he had once called colleagues had been all worth it. He had built something much, much more significant than he had ever dared hope for. His reach, the level and sophistication of the understanding he had been able to acquire,
were also far more than he had ever hoped for. He smiled as he looked upon the sun going down, bouncing off the snow on the mountains and had to smile. He was thinking about the technology available when he had begun, particularly the technology that helped to map the human brain and its function, it had been almost medieval in comparison to what he had at his disposal now. Genetics, robotics, all of it had been just the lore of science fiction when he had begun his work. But, if he was forced to choose the one technology that had made most of his work possible, there was no question. The Internet had made it possible to reach beyond his own borders, to obtain information on those he was interested in, to search for instances that might lead him to find what he was looking for. If he were to chart his progress the graph would look fairly flat over the first sixteen years, especially during the time he had tried to do things
their
way. Those had been wasted years. Then, when the Internet had rea
lly taken off for him in the late 90s, the graph would pitch up dramatically and when social media took hold,
it would once again pitch up. As he made it back to the desk where the drives were, he wondered what the next technological advancement would be that would put another spike up on the graph. Perhaps the gene sequencing work going on in the Netherlands or the stem cell work in Japan. It didn’t matter, whatever it was he would be among the first to know. He reviewed the documents that his attorneys had given him. It all looked in order. The door to his study opened and his valet led Lon Crawford, one of his attorneys, a more junior one at the firm, into the room. Barlow stayed seated and motioned to the chair in front of his desk. “Thank you Cole.” Cole nodded and left. “Mr. Crawford, I wasn’t expecting you this evening.” Crawford remained standing, “I know, but we might have a problem with one of the corporations you want us to set up in Belize.” Barlow’s eyebrows rose, “Oh? What problem would that be?” Cole shifted on his feet. He was clearly uncomfortable with what he had to say, “Well, it seems that the D
epartment of Defense
has an issue with the use of some of the technology you want to use. They insist it is classified and that the kind of fabrication you are looking to do could turn it to, uh, well they say that it’s not meant for…see the thing is…” Barlow was tired and wanted to simply to have dinner and go to bed, “Spit it out Lon, I don’t want to sit here all night while you grow some testicles.” Lon took a breath and spit it out, “They say that it can be weaponized. The man that came to the firm said that it can be used to deliver both chemical and biological weapons.” Barlow smiled. His elbows were on his desk and he was tapping the tips of the fingers of one hand against the tips of the fingers of the other, “Hmmm. That is unexpected, indeed. I wonder who it was that spoke to the DoD about the technology. We have kept out procurement of that technology very quiet and we’ve hired experts from other countries and vetted them out thoroughly about the project, so I am truly perplexed as to who it could have been.” He picked up the documents he had been review
ing
and handed them to Crawford, “These are fine. Move forward with everything and leave the documents for the Belize project with me. I’ll take care of it.” Crawford nodded. He knew Barlow would in fact take care of it. Lon wasn’t too familiar with Barlow’s business; he had been with the firm for just over a year
and only knew he paid the firm hundreds of thousands of dollars each year. He didn’t know why, but the old bastard gave him the willies. He took the documents Barlow handed him, turned around and walked to the door. Before he was able to leave, Barlow called out to him from his desk, “Oh, and Lon?” The young man turned around. Barlow had a thin smile on his face, but his eyes were ice cold, “Tell Brian Drake the next time he has one of his underlings come to give me news like these, I will be…displeased.” Lon shuddered without knowing why, nodded and left.