The Red Phoenix 12: Strength Comes in Numbers (11 page)

Chris watched Scott with an empathetic smile.
Jeez, no wonder this guy can’t get any dates
, he thought.

“So how goes the battle?” asked Siddoway walking in, setting his briefcase on a counter, opening a bottle of soda.

“We got a lot done today, boss,” stated Scott. “I think, at this rate, we’ll make the two-week deadline with no problem.”

“Excellent,” Siddoway replied, tossing Scott and Chris a soda. “And, again, I apologize for not being here to help. These meetings and training seminars are taking all of my time and then some.”

“It’s all good,” Scott said, taking a drink.

“What is this?” Siddoway asked, noticing the
silver-red metal chest
on one of his counters, running his fingers across the top of it.

“Oh! I found that in storage,” Scott answered. “The lithium readings were off the charts. I told Flanders you’d have a look at it.”

“High lithium, huh?” asked Siddoway, holding it up, examining it.

“Oh yeah, we’re talking lithium-six,” Scott responded. “I don’t know what’s inside that thing but it’s packing something.”

“Hmm,” stated Siddoway. “I’ll take it home with me and have a look at it later. How are things so far, Chris?”

“Just great,” he answered, smiling, holding his soda. “I think I’ll be able to build my own XD in another week.”

“Excellent,” Siddoway replied. “Well, I’m exhausted, boys. See you in the morning.”

“Good night, boss,” said Scott.

***

Siddoway drove down the night highway, heading towards Tucson, singing along with a Johnny Cash CD. The metal chest sat on his front passenger seat on top of some manila folders. He stopped his a cappella as he heard strange echoing, whispery sounds coming from somewhere. He turned off his stereo, looking out his windows and windshield and checking his rear view mirror. The whispering stopped.

“What the hell was that?” he mumbled, still looking around, trying to keep his eyes on the road.

He turned the music on again, watchful for anything strange to happen. The tunes calmed him down as he began to tap his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the song.

Siddoway drove on down the night highway.

***

It was around ten-fifteen a.m. in Tucson. Vincent and Marcos pulled up in Vincent’s newer model red Camaro with tinted windows a few houses away from Siddoway’s place. They watched Siddoway’s house like evil vultures for a moment. Marcos checked his handgun, making sure it was loaded as he sat in the passenger seat.

“How do you want to do this?” asked Marcos, eating a donut.

“I’ll make entry,” Vincent answered. “You watch for anybody while I go through his place.”

“Where does Siddoway keep his files?” asked Marcos.

“Our source tells us it’s in his master bedroom closet,” Vincent responded.

“Why don’t we just go through the place and smash it up until we find it like we done other times?” asked Marcos.

“Because, you idiot, we gotta make it look like this break-in never happened,” Vincent replied in a scolding tone, rubbing his five-o-clock shadow. “It’s part of Mueller’s plot.”

“Oh yeah, right,” stated Marcos, wiping the donut crumbs off his black leather jacket.

Vincent rolled his eyes as they climbed out of his car, wondering why he had to work with such a fool.

They reached Siddoway’s front door. Marcos looked around, watching through the palm trees and bushes on Siddoway’s front yard for anyone noticing their attempt to burglarize the house. Vincent worked on the lock until he managed to open it.

“Okay, I got it,” he whispered. “I’m going in.”

“This is a pretty good job for a hundred grand a year, huh?” asked Marcos with a goofy smile.

“Just wait here and keep a look out,” Vincent answered in a sharp tone as he entered the residence.

“Cranky bastard,” said Marcos, standing at the front door, shrugging his shoulders.

***

Seymour sat at his desk that had three monitor screens and a keyboard in front of him. He brought up the Library of Congress copyright webpage login page on one screen. The screen on his left was filled with computer script and code that continued to scroll upwards.

“Hello cutie,” he mumbled, stroking through his well-styled, curly hair, staring at the screen through his glasses. “I hope you’re ready for this because you’re about to be violated.”

He typed at a rapid speed, hacking into file after file. A page came up labeled
Siddoway, Alex J.
on the screen to his right with a photo of Dr. Siddoway next to his full profile and personal info.

“Bingo,” muttered Seymour. “You’re all mine now,” he added as he continued to type.

CHAPTER FOUR
SIDDOWAY’S DOWNFALL

It was the day of the weapons presentation at the Red Phoenix. It was the second annual meeting on the tenth floor of the main building. Siddoway hurried down the corridor like he had a million things to do by the end of the day, checking his watch and nodding at a few employees with a brief smile that greeted them as he breezed past them.
This meeting is such a waste of time. As if that imbecile Dennis Mueller, who lacks any real creative talent, could ever match my inventions or should be considered to be my competition. Why don’t they just ask me what new item I have this year? And I’ll tell them how much it will cost
, he thought.

***

In an office across the corridor from the weapons presentation, Mueller spoke with Vincent, Seymour and Marcos before the meeting.“How do you want to do this?” asked Seymour. “Our weapon schematic plan is going to look a lot like Siddoway’s in there.”

“We’ll let Siddoway go first,” Mueller answered. “Allow him to set himself up. It will give us more weight to use against him. That way, our design won’t look like the spin off. ”

“Spin off? It’s more like a replica, isn’t it?” asked Marcos, chuckling at himself.

“Last time I checked, you’re not being paid for your brains or opening your mouth,” Mueller responded in a scornful voice.

“Sorry, boss,” said Marcos, sounding like a dirt gopher.

“Siddoway is the government’s golden boy for weapons manufacturing,” stated Seymour. “His designs shine. It may be hard to dissuade them otherwise.”

“Not anymore,” Mueller replied. “This plan of mine will fix him for good. I want to watch that arrogant prick fall on his face, plain and simple.”

“What’s the update on his back-up files? I imagined he had them up the wah-zoo,” said Seymour.

“Somebody in his department was just paid seven figures to wipe out everything he had here at the Phoenix facility,” Mueller answered with cold satisfaction.

“Including what he had at home?” asked Seymour.

“It’s all been taken care of,” Vincent added in an icy tone. “He doesn’t have enough paper at his place to wipe his nose with.”

“Lucky for me, this guy in Siddoway’s department was an easy pay-off,” stated Mueller, forming a smile. “He’s been my spy for the past month. As a bonus, I’ll be inheriting all of Siddoway’s designs, prototypes and sketches he’s been working on.”

“Brilliant,” Vincent commented.

“I love how money fixes everything. Anyone can be bought for the right price,” Mueller added.

“You beat Siddoway in the presentation meeting and present some new innovative ideas; Mueller Incorporated’s stocks will go through the roof overnight,” Seymour commented.

“Exactly,” Mueller replied with a dark grin. “And best of all, we get to watch Siddoway writhe like a fish on a hook. He’s undermined my company for the last time.

“Everything is going like clockwork,” stated Vincent.

“How’s the online patent office, Seymour?” asked Mueller.

“Everything is set,” he responded. “All of Siddoway’s blueprints, schematic plans and anything he has ever conceived in that head of his and stamped with a patent currently shows in your name. Siddoway doesn’t have a clue the rug was ripped out from underneath him.”

“Was it difficult?” asked Mueller.

“Give me a laptop and I’m surgical,” Seymour answered. “Give me a laptop with internet and I can do anything I want.”

“Excellent,” Mueller responded.

“Siddoway just walked in the meeting, boss,” Marcos informed, keeping watch outside the door.

“It’s show time,” stated Vincent.

“Well, time to get in there gentlemen and show the world what
we
have for them,” stated Mueller, picking up his briefcase.

***

In the conference room, twenty men in suits and military uniform sat at a long table.

Ernest Hamill, the Secretary of Defense, sat at the head of the table with two assistants, waiting like he had all the time in the world; his chin resting on his crossed-fingers, elbows on the table. He was in his late fifties with gray hair and looked uptight. He took a sip of his coffee and set it back on the table like he was going to make a million-dollar deal.

Sam Wickenburg, the director of the Red Phoenix facility, sat at the opposite end of the table. He was in his sixties and wanted to get down to business. In between Hamill and Wickenburg, the seats were filled with some high-ups from the FBI, CIA, DEA and Homeland Security who wanted to see the plans of the proposed weapons by Siddoway and Mueller Weapons Inc.

Siddoway sat near Wickenburg, giving his goatee a gentle scratch. He thought about the gravity of the presentation, despite fearing no competition from Dennis Mueller and his team of slime balls. He browsed through his cell phone email, checking for messages.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” said Mueller in a cheery tone, walking in with Vincent and Seymour.

Marcos followed after him.

“Wait outside,” Mueller muttered to Marcos, shooing him off like an unwanted security guard.

Marcos darted out of the room as Mueller, Vincent and Seymour took a seat.

“Well, let’s get started,” stated Wickenburg. “Dr. Siddoway? You’re up. What have you got?”

“What I have is revolution in the palm of my hand, gentlemen,” Siddoway responded, getting out of his chair.

Wickenburg smiled at his bold confidence. He had known Siddoway a long time and believed he would go down in history as one of the greats.

Siddoway opened his briefcase and put together one of his XD-Three-Thousand weapons then turned it on, revving it up. The room was silent; he had everyone’s attention.

Mueller and Vincent glanced at each other.

“Gentlemen, the firearms ammunition industry grossed over eleven point seven billion in sales last year,” stated Siddoway, holding his revved weapon up. “Nine hundred ninety-three million of that were profits.”

“Yeah? So…” stated Hamill.

“What if I was to say I created a weapon that could adjust to any caliber at anytime and the trigger was programmable to the owner’s DNA to provide security features?” asked Siddoway.

“I’d say you better put your weapon where your mouth is, doctor,” Hamill quipped.

The room broke out in soft laughter.

“Right you are, secretary,” Siddoway responded, aiming his weapon at Hamill then firing.

A brilliant blue laser flew across the table top, hitting Hamill’s cup of coffee, causing it to disappear in a flash.

“Great Scott!” Hamill said, sitting up in his chair with amazement.

Siddoway fired five more lasers across the long table, each of them hitting Hamill’s shirt buttons one by one, making them vanish, and causing his shirt to hang open.

“Ah!” said Hamill, startled, looking down at his T-shirt underneath his dress shirt that was exposed.

Siddoway leaned over the table, knowing he made a home run, sliding the XD-Three-Thousand across it towards Hamill. The gun came to a halt in front of the secretary. He glanced at it then looked up at Siddoway, baffled at his audacity.

“It’s called the Siddoway XD Three-Thousand, aka
The Vaporizer
,” stated Siddoway, forming a priceless grin.

The rest of the room still waited for Hamill’s response, fearing he was offended.

“Bravo!” Hamill stated, standing up, clapping his hands, very impressed with the weapon. “Bra-vo!”

The rest of the room applauded as well except for Mueller and his two dogs. Siddoway was taken in with his brief moment of glory.

“I oppose!” yelled Mueller, standing up.

The room quieted down.

“Excuse me, Dennis?” asked Wickenburg.

“This weapon is my design!” Mueller affirmed. “Siddoway stole it!”

“I beg your pardon?” asked Siddoway in disbelief.

Mueller opened his briefcase and took out a weapon that was identical to the Vaporizer.

“Watch!” said Mueller as he fired across the room, hitting a wall clock, causing it to disappear.

Rumblings were heard throughout the room.

“What the hell is going on here?” asked Wickenburg, standing up and glaring at both Mueller and Siddoway.

“Mr. Wickenburg, I have here the schematic designs, documents from the copyright office, the construction and testing dates of the weapon!” Mueller declared, pulling papers from his briefcase.

“Let me see that weapon, Dennis,” stated Siddoway, walking towards him.

Siddoway examined the weapon then opened it.

“What do you think you’re doing?” asked Mueller.

“Forgery,” growled Siddoway.

“Excuse me?” asked Mueller.

“I don’t know how you managed to steal
my
design but you’re not going to get away with it, Mueller,” said Siddoway.

“You stole it from me!” hollered Mueller.

“Oh please,” stated Siddoway. “Your company hasn’t produced anything that works for years!”

“For your information, we have contracts in over thirteen countries, sir,” Mueller argued, slapping a manila folder on the meeting table. “We sell guns, ammunition, hi-tech weaponry and —”

“—Dennis, your company couldn’t make a pencil sharpener that works!” stated Siddoway. “The same goes for all the pitiful crooks you employ!” he added, glancing at Seymour and Vincent.

“How dare you!” said Mueller, stepping up face to face with Siddoway.

“Gentlemen! Gentlemen! Please!” Wickenburg pleaded for them to lower their voices. “There must be a reasonable explanation.”

“How about we settle this right now?” Siddoway suggested. “I’ll have my lead assistant bring my files that even show my demonstration on video camera with dates and times when my prototype was invented!”

“Please do! I’d like to meet this
assistant
,” Mueller disputed.

“This matter is under investigation!” Wickenburg stated. “And you can be sure that whoever is responsible for thievery will be dealt with!”

“Fine by me,” stated Siddoway. “I hope you got all your ducks in a row, Mueller, because I’m going to bury you and your piece of shit company over this.”

“Enough! We’re done for the day,” stated Wickenburg. “There will be a hearing in three days before a board. It will be settled then.”

“You’ll be hearing from my lawyer, Siddoway,” Mueller threatened, collecting his weapon and briefcase and leaving with Seymour and Vincent.

“I apologize for the inconvenience, Mr. Secretary,” said Siddoway, trying hard to keep his cool, disassembling his weapon and placing it back in his briefcase.