The Red Phoenix 12: Strength Comes in Numbers (19 page)

“Where is it, dammit?”

He found a shoebox and carried it to his dining table then opened it. A small pile of Kirk’s letters and photos from Bosnia that were sent to Chris and Kerry kept as memorabilia covered a dog tag labeled
Kirk Everett Michaels
. He held the dog tags in his hand, rubbing them gently for a moment, drafting a most unthinkable plan.

He hurried down the stairs to his basement and fought his way past boxes used for storage, making his way to a deep freezer. He opened the lid, took out a small box and retrieved a vial with a dark substance inside it. He stared at the vial, remembering arriving on a scene late at night where Kirk crashed his car and was being arrested for driving under the influence. Chris remembered walking up to the scene where Kirk was sitting in the back of a police car with the door open as a forensics technician took a blood sample from Kirk’s left arm for the investigation. Kirk looked away in shame as Chris approached them with a glaring stare.

“Here is a hundred bucks, buddy,” Chris said to the technician, handing him a hundred-dollar-bill. “I’ll be needing one of those samples too.”

“I’m sorry, sir, we’re really not supposed to do things like that,” the technician answered.

“No, I insist. You see, I’m going to make damn sure my son never does something this freaking stupid again because I’m going to hold up this blood sample with booze in it to remind him to make better choices. So please.”

“Well, all right,” the technician responded, taking the money. “Your dad must really care about you kid,” he said to Kirk who was gazing at Chris with guilt.

“Oh he has no idea of the ass-kicking he is about to receive,” Chris replied, standing, looking down at Kirk like he was going to come unglued.

Chris walked up the stairs with the vial, pondering over the experiment in Sander’s lab
. At least I found the vial. Now I just have to wait for the right opportunity to start my life over
, he thought, wiping a tear from his face.

***

Sanders sat at a table in a stripper bar. He watched four women dance at their poles in their skimpy outfits with high heels. His area was dark and the music was loud as lights spotted up the walls and the floor, reflecting off spinning disco balls that hung from the ceiling. A waitress approached him.

“Get you a drink, honey?” she asked.

“Pína Colada,” he replied.

“With or without?” she asked.

“With,” he answered.

“Are you alone tonight?” asked the waitress.

“A friend will be showing up any minute,” Sanders responded.

“I’ll get that drink right up for you, sweetie,” she stated, walking away.

Thomas Holden approached the table.

“Tom?” said Sanders, standing, shaking his hand.

“Sanders,” he replied. “I didn’t know you go to places like this.”

“I have to stretch myself on occasion,” Sanders replied. “Working in the lab all the time winds a guy up.”

“Well, you got me here, what did you want to talk about?” asked Holden. “You made it sound like it was important.”

“Well, Holden, you are the division commander for all military vehicles, aircraft and weaponry at the Red Phoenix,” said Sanders.

“So.”

“So, I need a favor,” said Sanders.

“Such as?”

“I need you to let me use an attack helicopter, fully armed, for some training I’m doing,” Sanders answered.

“A freaking Blackhawk?” asked Holden. “What kind of training are you doing?”

“It’s right up your alley,” Sanders answered. “Advanced infantry and air warfare.”

“Oh, I see. This has something to do with those artificial people you’re designing, doesn’t it?” asked Holden.

“You’re within the ball park,” Sanders replied.

“Are you out of your mind?” asked Holden.

“Not at all and I need one with missiles,” Sanders added.

Holden burst into laughter.

“Did I say something funny?” asked Sanders in a serious voice.

“Yes, I thought I heard you say you want a
fully armed warbird with missiles
,” Holden answered. “Hellfire, I presume?”

“I did,” Sanders stated.

“Well, Sanders, I don’t know how many drinks you’ve had so far watching these bimbos on that stage over there but that’s not going to happen,” said Holden, standing.

“You’d be surprised how persuasive I can be,” Sanders stated.

“I’m out of here,” Holden replied.

“Sit down, Thomas,” said Sanders in a firm tone.

“I beg your pardon?” Holden said.

“Sit down. Now!” Sanders responded, holding a letter-sized orange envelope. “You’re going to want to know what I have in here, Tom.”

“What’s that?” asked Holden.

“Just a little something a private investigator I hired got for me,” Sanders answered. “And you know what? It has to do with you.”

“This better be worth making me sit back down in that tone,” said Holden, plopping back in his chair.

“Oh, it is,” Sanders replied, setting the envelope in front of him.

Holden took out a few eight by ten photos of him with a woman in a hotel room together, making out with her, taking his jacket and shirt off, while she undressed. He put the photos face down on the table, glaring at Sanders.

“Now, I may be mistaken but if Ms. Holden were to see those pictures with you and that
hooker
, I bet that would be a life-changing experience at the Holden residence,” Sanders stated.

“You think you can blackmail me?” asked Holden in a hard tone.

“Here’s your drink, sir,” said the waitress, placing it in front of Sanders. “Looks like your friend showed up. Can I get you something?”

“Don’t bother,” Holden answered, staring at Sanders like he wanted to deck him in the face.

Sanders took a long sip from his drink, staring back at him.

“You are a snake son-of-a-bitch,” Holden growled.

“Pretty smart one though, don’t you think?” Sanders asked.

“What are you asking of me exactly?” asked Holden.

“Chris Michaels, my weapons executive, will be by in the next day or two with the trainees, there are twelve of them. See to it that the bird is fueled, armed and ready to kick ass or the deal is off and you go hunting for one-bedroom apartments.”

Holden stared at him with hatred.

“Well, do we have a deal?” asked Sanders.

“Fine,” Holden replied in a stern voice.

***

A week later, Chris arrived at the lab, heading straight for the refrigerator. He opened the freezer, took out the vials with blood samples then stashed them at the rear of the icebox as he didn’t want anyone to notice them.
No one will find them there. It won’t be long now, Kerry and Kirk. I just have to find a way,
he thought, closing the freezer door.

He turned and headed towards the A.I.s that were still sleeping in their glass-pod beds.

“What the—” muttered Chris, noticing all but one of them was lying on the beds under their sheets.
Where’s Number One?
he thought, fearing Number One had escaped the lab. He looked under the bed and in a closet for him but he wasn’t there.

Where in the hell did he go?
he thought, walking around a corner –

“Boo!” Number One said, scaring Chris.

“Ah!” Chris blurted.

“I’m sorry, Chris, did I frighten you?” asked One.

“Scared the hell out of me!” Chris replied.

“I’ve learned to be more human-like is to be jocular,” stated One.

“Well, it worked,” Chris replied, trying not to sound impatient. “Now, let’s get you back in your bed.”

“Right away, sir,” Number One replied as Chris directed it back to its bed.

Number One lay down and began to pull the sheet over him. Chris pushed a button and caused the glass-cover to close over it.

“Chris?” asked Number One.

“Yeah?” he answered, pausing the closure of the cover.

“I noticed that you have a distraught expression on your face today,” stated Number One. “Are you okay?”

“My wife just—”

Chris stopped talking, keeping himself from tearing up.

“Your wife just what, sir?” asked Number One.

“She passed away a week ago,” Chris responded in a quiet voice.

“You told me about her and showed me her photo. Kerry was her name. She has been ill a long time,” said Number One.

“Yes.”

“But, Chris, why did you come to work? It is recommended that one should take a longer leave of absence after the loss of a loved one.”

“If I stay at my place any longer, I’ll either go crazy or pull a cork,” Chris answered. “And I’m not going through that nightmare again.”

“To which nightmare are you referring?”

“Alcoholism.”

“May I recommend counseling, sir?” asked Number One. “Perhaps Dr. Sanders can refer you to an expert therapist?”

“Go back to sleep, Number One,” said Chris, closing the cover.

“Chris, wait,” it said, stopping the glass cover. “I understand you’ve just gone through a traumatic experience but allow me to help you.”

“What do you have in mind, One?” asked Chris, trying to keep his patience.

“I’ll show you,” One responded, getting out of bed.

***

Chris and Number One sat at another table across from each other, playing chess.

“You’re getting better, One,” said Chris, his face still upset, moving his rook.

“I fear that your recent loss has distracted your concentration,” One suggested, using his queen to take Chris’ rook across the board.

“You can say that again,” said Chris in a quiet voice.

“I fear that your recent loss has distracted you—”

“—It’s okay, One. You don’t have to actually repeat it,” Chris added. “It was a figure of speech.”

“Excuse me, a what?”

“I’ll explain it later,” Chris responded, moving his knight.

“Chris? What purpose does Dr. Sanders have for us?” asked One, moving his bishop, taking Chris’ knight.

“There is a something special waiting for you initial twelve,” Chris answered, moving a pawn up two squares. “What that is I can’t tell you.”