Morvicti Blood (A Morvicti Novel Book 1) (15 page)

11:55 AM

With long strides, the two men led Austin through several twists and turns. The place was a maze, obviously meant to confuse. But Uncle Sam’s training kept him sharp and aware of the one exit he knew was here—the way he’d come in.

When they finally came to a stop, he grinned, realizing the march had come full circle.

“Inside, buddy.” The officer had an American accent.

Not MI6 or Interpol. They were CIA all the way.

They took the bag off his head but left the handcuffs on his wrists. The area was outfitted more like a medical space than an interrogation room, though to one side it did have the expected metal table and chairs meant to grill prisoners. There was a mirror directly in front of him, which he was certain concealed whoever was observing him from the adjacent room.

Staring at the center of the mirror, he said, “Professor, you sure went to a lot of trouble to bring me right back to the door we came in.”

“Move.” The taller of the two pointed to a machine in one of the corners.

The door opened. Two more men walked in. This new duo wore white coats. The balding one had a stethoscope around his neck, while the one with the beard held a syringe. They were officers of the CIA, too, but not the muscle.

The balding man smiled. “I’m Dr. Black. This is Dr. Brown.” His thick accent placed him somewhere in the deep south of the U.S.A.

Of course he knew that wasn’t their real names. “And I’m Mr. Austin Purple.”

“Sir, we’re just here to run a physical on you. We also will verify your identity by getting your fingerprints, checking your dental records, and DNA.”

“Go ahead. Do what you need to do. I am Austin McCord. I have nothing to hide.”

Dr. Black nodded. “Let’s get a
pano
of your teeth. Place your hands on the machine. It will rotate around your head. It’s a painless process, I assure you.”

“I’ve had this done before, but I’m not sure how I can grab hold with my hands in cuffs behind my back, Doc.”

Remington’s voice came over some hidden speaker. “Remove his handcuffs; remain alert.”

Austin turned to the mirror, and smiled. “Good job, buddy.”

This had to be the strangest reunion in history. They thought he was long dead.
Hell, I didn’t even know I was alive.
He couldn’t blame Remington for being suspicious. But one thing he did know, his buddy would find out he was Austin McCord.

One of the men who had brought him here held a gun pointed directly at his chest while the other removed his restraints.

“This will take only thirty seconds, Mr. McCord.”

He grabbed hold of the handles on the machine. The other men stepped back as the device swung around his head.

“Excellent.” Dr. Brown held out something that looked similar to Angelique’s cell phone, though much larger. “Place your left hand on my tablet, Mr. McCord. I want to scan your fingerprints.”

He complied, once again realizing how much technology had advanced since he’d been shot.

The rectangle buzzed and then went silent.

“Now let’s get your physical started.”

They took samples of his blood and urine, checked his reflexes, listened to his heart and lungs, and recorded his temperature.

“That about does it for our part, Mr. McCord,” Dr. Black said, heading to the door with Dr. Brown. “We should have the results back shortly.”

After they left, the two men who had led him to this room placed him in the chair facing the mirror. They put the handcuffs back on him and connected them to the metal post in the middle of the table.

Without a word, they exited the room, leaving him alone in absolute silence.

Soundproof. Nice.

He couldn’t see the microphones, but knew they had to be somewhere in the space. With what he’d seen of the current technology, they might be embedded in the mirror.

He still didn’t have a clue who had kept him stashed away for so long, or why. And what about Walt Turner’s killer who was still on the loose? How did Commissioner Poole play into everything? Poole had been at Murphy Street and at Angelique’s flat. Without a doubt, he was involved in some way.

Now that Angelique was in safe hands, he wanted to get back on the streets of London and figure out everything as fast as he could.

Smiling, he tapped out a message on the table’s surface in Morse code.

Remington, you still have that birthmark on your right ass cheek that looks like a butterfly?

The speaker came on.

He could hear some guy in the background laughing. “I want to see it, boss.”

“You are not Austin McCord, asshole. You’re not fooling anyone,” Remington said. “Trust me, I
will
find out who you really are.”

“I am completely sure of that, Professor.”

CHAPTER 26

12:06 PM

Dr. Thomas Wilson wanted to yell, but knew a cooler head would serve him better. “I understand your concern, but I assure you the sample I need from the mummies in your exhibit is miniscule.”

Sitting behind the giant desk, the current curator of the British Museum’s International Exhibitions, Dr. Kelsi Vickers, gave him a grin. “Dr. Wilson, I wish I could help you, but—”

“Then bloody well help me.” His frustration at the woman’s constant condescending tone bubbled over. He stood and pounded his fist on top of the desk. “Do not wish it. Do it. I am so close to a breakthrough on my research.”

“Please, Thomas. Have a seat.”

Hearing her call him by his given name unsettled him. It came off more like a granddaughter talking to her confused granddad than a peer to a peer. This generation’s informality never appealed to him. He missed the past more and more.

Reluctantly, he complied, sitting back in the chair. “Dr. Vickers—”

“Please, call me Kelsi.”

“Fine. Kelsi. According to the museum’s Human Remains Policy Document, section 5.2.2, and I quote: ‘Human remains in the Collection help advance important research in fields such as archaeology, human biology, the history of disease, palaeoepidemiology, bioarchaeology, physical anthropology, forensics and genetics.’ I am a geneticist. I have important work.”

“I know your hypothesis, and I understand why the two mummies in question are so important to your research, it’s just that…”

She droned on and on about the channels he would need to go through to get any sample of any mummy housed at the museum.

He’d never dreamed the desire to be talking with Vickers’ predecessor would be so strong, but it certainly was now.

Lyle had a horrific temper and could be just as patronizing at times, but their joint love of loose tobacco bonded them in a way nothing else could. The unique access his old friend had given him to the museum’s exhibits had been unprecedented. Paperwork, required by other researchers, vanished.

I’m too close to give up now.
“There are ways to fast track these kinds of things. The paperwork can be filled out later. Your exhibit closes tomorrow. I have run out of time to get my samples.”

She nodded, giving him hope that he was getting through to her. “As you know the two mummies are on loan from Egypt. Their decapitation in 2011 during the looting has added new layers to their handling than any we have with other mummies.”

“Of course, of course. I know the history—and the mystery, too. That’s why I’m here. I believe that others are aware of their true identity. I believe that it wasn’t just some random looting, but a coordinated operation made to appear like a looting.” He thought about shutting his mouth, but she’d already acknowledged knowing his hypothesis. “Living hominids, other than
Homo sapiens.
Imagine how proof of that would disrupt the very fabric of society. Those who know the truth have worked hard to make sure it doesn’t come to light.”

“I understand you’re very passionate, but—”

“I am passionate. This is my life’s work. I’ve bled for this work. My reputation has been tainted because I’ve refused to back down in my search for the truth. The scientific community has finally come to the irrefutable conclusion that a large portion of humanity has small percentages of the species previously thought to have died out forty thousand years ago.”

“Just because some humans carry those genes doesn’t mean they still exist.”

“Wrong, Kelsi. They do exist. I am absolutely certain that their direct descendants, one hundred percent non-human, are breathing the same air, walking the same streets, living in the same cities as we are.”

“Dr. Wilson, I truly wish I—”

“Hyper-hibernation,” he interrupted. “That’s the key to it. Hyper-hibernation. A miraculous state of low body temperature, slow breathing, reduced heartbeat, and an overall decreased metabolic rate. That’s what I’ve been searching for my entire career.”

He closed his eyes, recalling the first time he’d witnessed the marvel of rebirth: Guatemala, 1973. He’d been so young then—
and so naïve.

He opened his eyes. Dr. Vickers stood in front of him with a worried look on her face. How long had he been silent? He felt his hands trembling and shoved them into his pockets.
Damn Parkinson’s.

“Are you okay, Dr. Wilson?”

She’d left her chair and came around the desk without him being aware. He’d gotten too caught up in telling her about his cherished hypothesis. A mistake. One he’d repeated time and time again.
When will you learn, Tom?

“I’m fine. Let me continue, please.”

She smiled. “Certainly. You’re my only appointment left today.”

Maybe she was a better replacement for Dr. Lyle Woods, God rest his soul.

“Most believe hibernation is about the conservation of energy when food becomes scarce and unavailable during certain seasons, but Kelsi, what if it is also to regenerate the body? A time to heal?
Homo sapiens
suffer with one flaw in our genetic code that cannot be overcome. No matter what aging theory is the flavor of the day for the scientific community at the moment—free radicals, DNA damage, autoimmune, reproductive cell cycle, teleomere—the brick wall is the same. We all get old, get sick, and eventually die. Hubert’s Arctic Bacteria prove that hibernation can last millions of years.”

“I’ve read the research.”

“Then you know that immortality is not only possible, but it exists today. Imagine a world without aging, illness, or the grave.”

“Dr. Wilson, I truly wish I could help. I really am sincere about that. But private donors are underwriting this mummy exhibit. They not only helped fund the release of the two mummies from Egypt, but also their transportation, storage, and security. They have put in additional protocols far beyond the museum’s norm. No one is allowed to even be with the mummies without their consent.”

“Give me the list of these donors. I’ll call and tell them how urgent this is.”

“You only need one name, Doctor.” Kelsi reached over her desk retrieving a pen and paper. “This is his name and number. He represents the other donors. If you win him over, you’ll be all set.”

She handed him the paper.

“Thank you so much. I really appreciate this.” He looked at his watch, realizing he needed to leave for the BBC studio for his interview with Ms. White. Afterwards, he would track down the gentleman who was in charge of the exhibit’s donors. He would do whatever it took to get the man’s approval. He must have the tissue samples. Once he had them in hand, he would return to his beloved lab and begin testing on the mummy tissue and the two fingers. When completed, he would likely have the proof he needed. Whatever the copycat Ripper was up to, he must figure it out quickly. Perhaps it would help Poole discover the man’s true identity before another innocent person died.

“Good luck, Thomas.”

“Thank you, Kelsi.” He read the name on the paper.

Mr. Walt Turner.

CHAPTER 27

12:30 PM

Still chained to the table, Austin looked up as Remington came barging in.

Wearing plastic gloves, his old friend slammed the childhood photo of him and Angelique on the metal table. “Where the hell did you get this?”

“In a room on Murphy Street a half block from Baylis Road—the place I woke up in. It’s on the other side of the river not far from the London Eye.” Austin gave him every detail he could remember about the location. “Buddy, whoever put me down there knows about Angelique. You’ve got to make sure she’s safe. Do you think she has any enemies?”

“Who do you think you are telling me how to protect my wife?” Remington’s face burned hot, showing how strongly he cared for Angelique.

“I’m her brother. We want the same thing.”