The Blueprint (The Upgrade Book 1) (7 page)

He checked for kids, and it seemed that the Hunts had one son, Jason, who would have been in his thirties now. Chuck pulled up Jason’s information, but it appeared that the younger Hunt resided in Fort Lauderdale. Another dead end.

Soft snoring interrupted Chuck’s line of thought. He turned around to see his partner leaning back in a chair, mouth wide open, a thin line of drool running down his chin. Chuck kicked the leg of Ryan’s chair that brought him out of his nap with a start.

“Wake up. Let’s do some real estate shopping.” He grabbed his coat and started walking toward the elevator, his half-asleep stumbling partner in tow.

Jason woke up as the first rays of the rising sun broke through the half-open blinds of the hospital window. He watched the sky to change its hues from scarlet and mauve to lighter shades of pink and gold, then watched them fade into a pale morning winter glow. His body was stiff after sleeping in a hard chair, and he slowly stood stretching, trying to get some blood into his rigid limbs. He stood there for a few seconds, then, no longer able to contain himself, he gently pulled the curtain blocking the hospital bed from his view.

Rachel was still asleep, her jet black hair around her sunken face in a perfect circle, like a black hole ready to consume her. She must have heard him, despite his efforts to be quiet; her eyes fluttered and her shallow breathing deepened.

“Jason?”

“I’m here.” He sat on the edge of her bed and took her hand.

“What happened?” She managed to open her eyes and look at him. “It’s so embarrassing. Did I really pass out?”

Jason felt as if something hot was burning his eyes. He stretched his hand and tenderly brushed her cheek.

“Stop looking so worried,” she said and smiled to him. “I’m just overworked, that’s all.”

He looked at her for a long time, unable to bring himself to speak, just sitting there, squeezing her hand, numb.

“Alright.” She propped herself up on the pillow. “Now you’re starting to freak me out.”

“I’m sorry, Rach,” he heard himself say, tears now running freely down his cheeks. “It turns out, you have lung cancer.”

She grew tense, squeezing his hand tight, her eyes searching his face for clues, then, finally her body went limp and she let go of his hand and turned away from him to face the window.

“How long?”

“They don’t know,” he said, “but they think you’ve had it for a while.”

“That’s not what I meant. How long do I have?”

“Rach—”

“How long?”

“Few weeks. Maybe a couple of months. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she turned back but her eyes had a faraway look. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone for a little while. Bring me a nice breakfast, will you? French toast with a good maple syrup and a nice cup of coffee?”

He stood, looking down on her, smiling at him as if nothing had happened. There was so much he wanted to tell her, but the words were refusing to form.

“I’ll be quick,” he managed and left the room.

He found Max in the hallway, right outside of Rachel’s room, sleeping on four hospital chairs pushed together, his lean body at an awkward angle.

“Max.” He shook his friend’s shoulder.

“Hey.” Max sat up and rubbed the back of his neck. “My God these chairs are horrible.”

Is she still sleeping?”

“No. She’s up and asked me to bring her some breakfast, after I told her.”

“I’m sorry pal.” Max got up and squeezed Jason’s shoulder. “Let’s go get her some breakfast then.”

They went to a small cafe just two blocks away from the hospital, and Jason got Rachel a French toast few slices of bacon, and a cup of freshly brewed coffee. Jason and Max only got themselves coffee. Neither had any appetite.

“You’re not going to tell her, are you?” Asked Max as they walked back to the hospital.

“Am I going to tell her? I’m not crazy, Max. Of course I’m not going to tell her. Especially right now.”

They entered the building, stepped into the elevator, and Jason pushed the floor button, but an older woman caught the closing doors and stepped in, smiling apologetically.

“Sorry, in a bit of a rush.”

Jason and Max politely smiled back.

“Don’t you worry, it’ll happen before you know it.” She patted Jason on his arm. “It always does.”

“Excuse me?”

“The delivery, of course,” she said smiling at him. “You have
the look.
Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

Jason couldn’t find what to say and simply shook his head. Mercifully, the elevator stopped and the woman stepped out, patting him on his arm just one more time.

“I guess you’ll find out soon enough.”

“Jesus,” said Max as the doors closed.

As they entered Rachel’s room, they found her sitting on her bed furiously typing something into her cell phone.

“Thank God you’re back. I’m starving and you surely took your sweet time.”

Jason and Max looked at each other, not knowing what to say.

“Sit down, both of you,” she commanded them in a voice that anticipated no objections. I need to tell you something.”

Jason sat on a chair he’d slept in and waited as Max dragged another one from the hallway. As he was looking at Rachel, going at her French toast and bacon as if she hadn’t eaten in a week, some crazy hope moved in his chest.

Could it have been a mistake? Some kind of mix up with paperwork, where they got somebody else’s results instead of Rachel’s?

“I spoke to the doc when you were out and the good news,” she said between two pieces of toast, “is that both tumors, as massive as they are, haven’t spread beyond my lungs.”

Hope died before being truly born.
She’s not rational; she must be traumatized by the news and losing her grip on reality.

“Stop looking at me as if I were crazy,” she said as if she could hear his thoughts. “I understand the gravity of this situation, but I just might have a solution.”

She put down her coffee cup and gave them a hard look.

“I’m not supposed to share this information with anybody without the proper clearance, but considering the impossibility of anyone punishing me beyond lung cancer that left me with just a few weeks to live, I might as well.

“You, however, shouldn’t share this information with
anyone.
This is jail-time kind of sensitive.”

As Jason listened to a tale of artificial implants that could possibly save his wife’s life if she was allowed to participate in early human trials, he couldn’t help but wonder about fate. A phrase he’d heard somewhere before, surfaced in his mind.
Fate, it seems, is not without a sense of irony.

“What do you think are the chances?” he heard himself say.

“In animal trials, twelve of sixteen subjects had survived. And technology has been greatly improved since the last trial. I think, realistically speaking, my chances are over ninety percent.”

“Will they have to get some kind of approval from outside of the company? FDA? I don’t really know how this works.”

“Well.” she said, “they’ve been approved by the FDA. I guess, technically speaking, they would have to bend a rule or two. There’s an internal committee that has to be gathered, some paperwork to sign. Some red tape, but nothing that would create any real delays.”

“Okay,” Jason said, “so what do we do?”

“First, I’d have to call Steve Poznyak, my boss. But if I had to guess, ultimately Mr. Engel would have to make this call.”

“Did you say Poznyak?”

“Why? Do you know him?”

“Never mind,” he said, “let’s do this.”

The snipers took out the two guards watching the front of the compound without any problems. Less than five seconds later a 400 horsepower Peterbilt garbage truck slammed into the front gate, tearing it to pieces along with a security booth, killing another guard in the process. As the emergency lights flooded the front and two more guards rushed out of the house raining lead on the massive vehicle, Johnny’s main forces started scaling the fence in the back of the property.

They collided with three guards by the guest house. One gang member went down, but their sheer numbers overwhelmed the defenders. As Johnny stepped over the guards’ bodies, he pushed a button on his remote control, setting off the charges planted on the driverless garbage truck, instantly killing the guards in the front yard.

The house grew quiet, but he knew there were two more guards left, lurking somewhere in the building, waiting to attack. They watched the house with infra-red goggles for some time trying to figure out where the rest of the guards were hiding, but the walls were giving off a light greenish glow that masked any movement inside.

Finally, frustrated with waiting, Johnny motioned to Boris, a tall muscular kid, to place a small patch of C4 on the back door. Boris was a former Russian boxer, and Johnny loved former boxers.

A mighty bang shook the building and the door blew in, scattering debris all over the large chef’s kitchen. Next went the stun grenades, and Johnny stormed in, machete in his right hand.

His crew split up with him leading half of his men through the west wing and the rest of his gang fanning the east. As he entered a dark corridor, Johnny felt a movement to his right, instinctively ducked, and took a hard swing with his machete. A stifled yelp told him that he had caught the attacker, and as he turned, ready to continue the fight, he saw the guard on the floor, facedown with a huge pool of blood quickly spreading from under the body. Boris caught up to him, and they continued walking through the dark house.

It was when they were slowly making their way through the hallway when another guard tackled him from the shadows and knocked the machete out of his hands, but before the guard had a chance to do anything, Boris was on him like a mad dog.

Both briefly tumbled to the ground, but a moment later the two were circling each other looking for an opportunity. The guard unleashed a series of tight quick punches aiming for ribs and the chin. Left, left, right; left, left, right. Johnny was mesmerized. He had no illusions, despite his quick reflexes, if it were him fighting that man, he would be knocked out by now.

Not Boris. Quick as a cat, he dodged the first onslaught, then his right faked a hook to the ribs, but then connected with the man’s head.

The guard tumbled backward, rolled on the floor to avoid kicks, and jumped to his feet. He kept his hands in front of his face as if he were ready to fight, but Johnny could tell the man was dazed.

Johnny started to slowly circle the two trying to get close to his machete. Boris pushed on, but the guard moved back, avoiding those long hands, and kicked the boxer in the stomach. Boris blocked but not without getting hurt. The two men started to circle each other again, one wary of the opponent’s hands, the other of the enemy’s legs.

Johnny’s fingers wrapped around the machete’s handle as he kept his distance from the fighters. As soon as he saw Boris attack he struck the guard on his thigh. The man cried out in pain and fell onto his knee, and Johnny finished him off with a quick swing to the head.

“Good job.” He patted Boris on the shoulder and they continued down the hallway.

As he came to the place marked on his plan as the panic room, his radio came to life.

“Johnny, we got the last guy, and we have the wife.”

“I thought I got the last guy,” he said. “Bring her to me and check the rest of the house to make sure no one else is hiding.”

He positioned himself in the middle of the large library, standing where he knew he would be visible on the panic room’s video camera. He smiled and waved, knowing that he was being watched.

“Mr. Driscoll, I’m sure you can hear me. Come out now please.”

Nothing happened, and Johnny waited. After a while, he heard some struggle noises, and a moment later two of his men dragged a woman into the room wearing only a pair of black panties. Her hands were tightly bound behind her back, mouth covered with a piece of duct tape. Johnny looked her up and down and whistled with appreciation.

“You found her like that? Look at that.” He walked to the woman. “What a catch, huh?”

He brought the tip of his bloody machete to her throat, right under her chin, and she stopped struggling. Johnny slowly continued to walk around her, machete never leaving her neck.

“Tall, slim, and look at those puppies.” He moved behind her, and cupped one of her breasts with a free hand. “What are those, double Ds?”

He squeezed her nipple hard, prompting a sharp muffled cry, then his hand slowly moved down her body, tracing a line on her stomach and finally stopping on top of her panties.

“Those don’t suit you honey.” He grabbed them on the side and ripped them off, eliciting another cry.

“Are you going to open, or you’d rather watch?” he said, looking at the direction of the camera.

“That skinny guy over there, his name is Danny. He looped your video feeds, so we have all night here with this beauty. No one’s coming, Mr. Driscoll.”

After a few moments there was a pneumatic hiss of the door, and one of the panels on the wall slid open, revealing a brightly lit room. In the middle of it was a short chubby man in his late forties with silver hair, dressed in pajamas.

“That’s my boy,” cooed Johnny. “Now please, pretty please open that safe in the back and come outta there.”

The man complied, his hands shaking as he entered the code. Once the door swung open, he stepped out of the panic room and in the middle of the library.

“Now do me a favor and strip out of those clothes.”

“Please, please.” the man whimpered, falling to his knees.

“Mr. Driscoll, please do what I tell you,” Johnny said smiling as he squeezed the woman’s nipple again and wouldn’t let go. Her muffled screams filled the room as she tried to remain still, Johnny’s blade scratching the skin on her throat. The man, now openly crying, stripped down and now stood there naked, shivering, trying to cover his privates.

“Look at you,” said Johnny with disgust, “so out of shape. I don’t think you deserve a woman like that.” He finally let go of the woman’s nipple, gave her buttocks a hard slap, and walked over to Driscoll. For a few seconds he was looking down at the man, then kneed him between his legs. The man fell onto the floor in agony, but Johnny signaled two of his men, and they brought Driscoll to his knees, keeping his hands behind his back.