The Prometheus Effect (31 page)

“
Thanks for letting me know before the event.” Coffey huffed at Letterman's callous words.

“
So how come you blew your wad then, why are they after you?” Coffey's question was highly valid. Letterman smiled and paused as if having waited for the pertinent moment to deliver his next mine.

“
They aren’t after me. It's
you
they want.”

Letterman stared into Coffey's eyes who suddenly felt a chill of extreme peril. Having listened to Letterman's interesting confession, it had lured the astronaut into a sense of security which now seemed to be disappearing at a rate of knots. Coffey's mind raced.

“
I guess once you're born into the family that's where you stay huh?” Coffey said knowing that he was in desperate trouble. Letterman continued to stare long and hard into his eyes, the cold piercing blue gaze had Coffey inching for his weapon which he then remembered was left in the car outside.

“
Now I see why your sister was so willing to give up your whereabouts.” Coffey surmised as his mind raced for a get out strategy.

“
Good old Annie. You see she never was married, she's not even disabled. Her acting talents are however her strong point.”

Coffey realised that he was the subject of another grand deception, an intricately worked sting straight from the CIA handbook. Letterman had been a decoy for Coffey's well meaning agency friends to stumble across and pursue. Coffey suddenly realised that both he and his colleagues were now in real danger.

Coffey looked around the room for an escape route, a weapon, anything. He guessed that Letterman had killed enough time, his signal having reached his masters, the assassins were on their way. With no time to lose, Coffey utilised the only effective object he had to hand and threw the heavy glass tumbler at Letterman's head as hard as he could. With the skill and perhaps luck of a world class pitcher, the glass struck the agent across the brow, bouncing of his skull and ricocheting across the room smashing across a hard piece of wooden furniture.

Coffey leapt to his feet and wasted no time in leaving the property the way he came in, not even looking back to see if the glass strike had slowed or even stopped the agent in his tracks. Sprinting to the car, he stooped to get in and had almost started the car before his trailing leg had entered the vehicle. Slamming the door behind him, he glanced down at his Glock on the passenger seat and picked it up, placing it on his lap. The car revved and spat up a rain of small stones and mud as the wheels span attempting to find a grip.

Coffey glanced up and back in his mirror wondering if Letterman had attempted a pursuit. Any short term relief was short lived as Coffey knew that now the organisation knew where he was, there was little chance of escaping their clutches. It was only a matter of time before the helicopter gunships would be hovering overhead unleashing the hellish breath of its mini-gun. Pounding the suspension of the ailing vehicle, the dirty track made heavy going. Coffey needed to find somewhere more populated to make his escape. There was little point abandoning the car and going on foot. The thermal camera's would have him and a snipers bullet would end this in a matter of minutes.

Full throttle, back on the highway, Coffey headed towards Jacksonville. The cold heavy pistol on his lap was his only defence. Perhaps at this point, it was time to take an alternative view and think about offence instead.

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

Coffey pulled out the cell phone and punched a series of numbers into it as he struggled to maintain a decent pace in the darkness of the night. He was trying to ring Bradley. He knew without hesitation that if Bradley did not pick up then he was dead already. He cursed himself for his gullibility as the tone continued in its monotonous regularity and with each one passing, indicating that in all likeliness, Coffey's friend had perished. Punching in the next number, the same resulted. Chuck's absence was also sinister and his failure to pick up the phone indicated that again he was on his own and in serious trouble.

Coffey scanned the dark skies for signs of activity. He knew that it would not be a police helicopter sent for him, with a distinctive rotor noise and a shining searchlight. Death would be dealt from afar and silently. A heat seeking rocket from a AFAR gunship his most likely demise. It was several miles onto the more suburban areas of Fleming Island and many more on to Jacksonville. If this was to be his last chance to utilise the information he had worked tirelessly to acquire, then maybe this was a pertinent time to offload the prized data to someone with the capability of using it. Coffey knew that time could be very short and decided to make the call.

With shaking hands and fully knowledgeable in the fact that his call would not be secure and fully traceable, he took the unenviable gamble not only with his own life but with Joshua's as the dialling tone gave away to the familiar ringing chime.

“
Hello, Josh Regan?”

“
Joshua, it's Roger Coffey. Listen very carefully, I don't have much time. Where are you?”

“
I'm at home, just woke up, are you OK, it's a bad line and you sound stressed.”

“
Look my friend, I need you to record this conversation, whether you have a device there or just write it shorthand, get something and get it now.”

“
Hang on...I have a digital recorder, what’s wrong?”

“
I'm about to play a recording of a conversation I have just had. I don't think I have much time, and you won't either. I'm sorry mate I've really fucked up and pushed you into this. They may even try to end this call before it completes so record now and ask questions later.”

“
OK, I'm recording. Is this line secure?”

“
No Joshua, it's open, wide open. This is my last throw of the dice. If you can't do anything with this stuff then we will have both died for nothing do you understand me?”

“
Jesus! Yes! Play the tape!”

Coffey laid the cell phone down on the passenger seat and pulled a concealed recording device from his shirt pocket. He had not gone to Letterman's totally unprepared. The quality was poor but he was fairly sure that it would translate well despite the ailing cell phone signal and the howling revving of the car's engine as Coffey made best his escape.

Coffey once again scanned the air and glanced frequently in his mirrors as the bright lights of Jacksonville loomed large in the distance. The recording played out, he only hoped that Joshua was receiving it and planning its use wisely. Suddenly there was an earth shattering blow to the back of Coffey's head and a blackness which sent him reeling into a wild spin. He could feel his arms and legs flailing around being battered against each other and the harsh metal construction of the vehicle.

Coffey opened his eyes and felt the immediate heat of fire and the white hot pain of severe lacerations across his body. The car was on its roof, rocking slowly as it found its resting place. Coffey had the wits about him to move quickly and not wait for assistance. A second strike and a confirmed kill was inevitable. Wheezing and whining, he crawled through the shattered glass remains of the wind-shield and on his knees, wriggled free from the wreckage. With no seconds to lose and anticipating another impact, he staggered to his feet and flung himself away from the burning vehicle just as there was another incredible force which this time hurled him several metres away from the explosion and over the retaining wall of the carriageway. Falling down a steep and grassy embankment, his body tumbled end over end and rested in a heap at the base of the incline. His consciousness waning, he still had the awareness to assess his surroundings as a streak of hot blood race down his scalp and into his eye causing him to blink furiously.

Limping blindly into the dark near distance, only the will to survive kept him from toppling to the ground in a heap. He could see headlights of cars, people standing, watching. He could not tell if they were the very people he was running from or just bystanders shocked to see a sight more common to a battle field or Hollywood movie. Knowing that either salvation or doom lie ahead, he willed himself to carry on. The people grew nearer and the world grew darker, a numbing sensation coursed through his body, a silence, a calm, like the vacuous abyss of space.

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

The Messenger, Fleet Street

January 4
^th
2012

Joshua panted heavily as he arrived at the office on his bicycle. Now cursing the machine which he had used as a convenience to negate spiralling fuel costs, he arrived clutching his briefcase as if it carried a ticking time bomb and indeed it did. He sprinted into the lobby and up the stairs, foregoing the elevator in preference of speed. Trying to look casual as he walked in despite looking flustered and bedraggled, he took his seat as other reporters who were on the early shift looked him up and down curiously. Joshua looked a mess, his hair was ruffled and his clothes dishevelled. It was 7:23 and the early print had long gone to the presses and indeed were now arriving at newsagents doors. In that respect he had missed the boat somewhat but in light of the recent events and the various new procedures, a second run was now being printed in smaller quantities with a deadline of eight.

At this point in the morning, neither Jameson or Fernandes were around as yet, although one of Jameson's editors was sat at his desk with his head rested on his hand looking intensely at his monitor. Joshua tried in vain not to look overawed with the nature of what he must achieve and stopped himself short from thumping the computer in frustration as it seemed to take an age to power up and offer the log-in screen.

Joshua pulled a memory stick from his pocket which was attached to his house keys and plunged it into the machine. He had not previously used the device on a work machine through fear of leaving a trace but it was all or nothing now and time was very short.

Joshua had relived the phone call over and over in his head. He had visualized the words spoken from Letterman, he had agonised over the parts which seemed to fade and be obscured by a faltering mobile phone signal. He had pieced together the article in his head and knew exactly how he was going to approach it. Combining it with his carefully worded and meticulously constructed piece which he had already put together, this was the last hurrah and the real key to unlocking the greatest and most audacious conspiracy ever conceived let alone acted upon.

Joshua's fingers tapped away with real intent as he dare not break his concentration for one moment. He offered the odd glance towards the door in fear that at any time, a posse of agents would enter and take him away having intercepted Coffey's call. He did not doubt for one second that the transmission was not traced. He had in all seriousness not even planned his escape once his deed was done, it was unimportant at this time. His mission was clear and his unwavering commitment to the cause was commendable.

Glancing up at the clock, time was running short. Joshua's exacting perfectionism would have to take the back seat to content in this article. Who cares if there was the odd typo when the story was this good? Saving the finished piece onto the memory stick, he yanked it from the machine and without any delay, skipped through the office making a beeline for Fernandes' domain.

Knowing that his manager was as regular as clockwork and was always sat at his desk by 7:50, Joshua sat waiting under the curious gaze of Miss Penny for several minutes, clicking his heels and picking at his nails. The moment Fernandes stepped through the door, Joshua rose to his feet and Fernandes stopped in his tracks. Fernandes only had to take one look at the sweating, shivering specimen before him to realise that his employee was about to hold him to his word. He walked forth and waved Joshua in to his office with the same beckoning finger and a nonchalance of a man at the top of his game.

Joshua wasted no time in handing Fernandes the memory stick which he had detached from his bunch of keys. Joshua was stuttering and particularly nervous knowing what he was asking of his boss.

“
I'm not sure if you want this, it's a poisoned chalice. There's enough there to cause a sensation but also to get us killed in a blink of an eye. I'd understand completely if you didn’t accept it.”

Fernandes looked at the small, seemingly insignificant piece of hardware in his grasp and pondered over the importance of its contents.

“
Lit a fire up my arse you did. Woke me up. Remembered a time when the 'truth' meant something, back in the day when I was still young and ambitious like you. Old I am now, old and bloody tired of it all. This damn company is all I have left and I’ll not stand by and let it become the vehicle for corruption.”