A smoke ring emitted from her lips, floating upwards, wavering and dissipating like some ephemeral ghost.

Once again her eyes fell to her white board, where the letters “AGS” were written.

Why had she dropped that particular thread, she asked herself? No one else seemed to think it was significant, and yet, her investigative mind, and possibly more so, her proclivity toward associative logic, was telling her otherwise. When two factors crossed the same line, from different directions – those factors were significant. And in this case, AGS Inc. had been part of two scenarios. First there was the bombing at the Richmond-Adelaide Centre where AGS was a major property owner. Secondly, nanotechnology; AGS Inc. specialized in it.

Those facts alone were enough to build her case. She dashed her cigarette and buried herself in a computer search. As the hours passed, she became more and more immersed in this particular investigative thread.

The body of her case was materializing, bit by bit. Thomas Raihn, the owner and CEO of AGS, had a shady background. His history was tainted by several venture investments, all of which had gone sour. Why then had he started up another venture company, in a field that was not yet developed? And how had he financed this upstart? From nothing, to now, one of the largest research facilities in the nation?

There were holes here, big holes, and where transparency was obscured, there were various shades of criminality to be found – that much she knew from her own experience working at the RCMP.

A quick check of Canadian custom’s records revealed that he had recently travelled to Aruba. Previously in the year, he had made two trips to Macau, in China. The question was, why?

She dialled his phone, figuring that Keeno might enjoy a conversation during his longish flight, and more importantly, something else to chew on besides lousy airplane food.

‘How’s the trip to Lagos?’ she asked as he picked up with a tired “Hello”.

Keeno blinked away the fatigue and looked out over the Atlantic far below. ‘Just peachy, thanks.’

‘Listen, you might think that I am drawing a wild card, so bear with me. I have this weird sense that AGS Inc., the nanotech research company located at the Richmond-Adelaide Center, is complicit in this plot.’

Keeno sipped some water to alleviate the dryness in his throat, ‘Why do you think that?’

‘First of all, associative logic suggests that it is probable. But even if you discard my reasoning on the matter, precedence seems to confirm what I am saying.’

‘What precedence?’

‘That you have a tendency to step in sequential puddles of cow-shit, Keeno. All of which somehow have relevant connectivity?’

‘Ok, besides that,’ he smiled.

‘AGS Inc. was just a small-time research upstart three years ago; whereas today, they are one of the largest private nanotech research facilities in Canada. And yet, they haven’t officially marketed or sold a single thing on the open market. The owner, Thomas Raihn, is not privately wealthy. In fact, everything suggests that the guy is in the hole by millions. So where did he get the cash infusion to set up and keep this facility operating?’

‘Hmm?’

‘I know it isn’t turning on any lights just yet, but if you consider our earlier discussions, it is logical to assume some associative connectivity.’

‘Connect the dots for me,’ said Keeno, his head still groggy from lack of sleep.

She happily launched, ‘Ok, here is the picture. Nb83 suddenly shows up, being injected in victims of human trafficking right in our own backyard. In the middle of that scene we have a Chinese scientist who specializes in nanotechnology. And as someone correctly pointed out, all evidence suggests that she is a Maoist-saluting loyalist. Then we have a scientist in Lagos, Nigeria, supposedly injecting hundreds of thousands of girls with this stuff. Nigeria has no known facilities with which to develop this level of nanotechnology – so where did he get it from and why was Mai Lin Heng advising him? You see, the dots are circular; they point to major players in this arena, and there are only so many players in the nanotech field.’

‘The other thing is this,’ she continued, ‘Raihn has been to Macau twice in the past year. I could just assume that he likes gambling and loose women, but the relative and consistent factor in this scenario is China. Why else would a Chinese scientist be in Canada overseeing a cutting edge program unless she were doing it at the behest of the party to whom she supports and answers to?’

‘So then Raihn was probably meeting people in Macau, maybe his backers?’

‘Who knows? But there is one other thing which all of this suggests to me’.

‘Which is?’

‘If AGS Inc. is complicit, if the Chinese are involved, and if Nb83 has already been injected into half a million girls in Nigeria – then we can assume it has reached other shores as well.’

Keeno sighed, thinking to himself that any chances of sleep had just been dashed. ‘That’s my sense on it too.’

‘Then enjoy the flight,’ said Kelly.

 

 

Upon landing at the Murtala Muhammed International Airport, they hailed a cab. With the skill of a World War I flying ace, the driver navigated the streets of Lagos, darting and weaving, as if evading enemy fire in a combat zone. Nothing in western culture could have prepared them for the mass of humanity which ebbed and flowed along the arteries of this city.

When they finally emerged from the cab, they were drenched in sweat.

Facing them was a stucco building, a pallid peach color, with a sign announcing that it was the Kobi Research Center.

As they stepped inside they were struck by a wave of cool dry air - unlike the hot sultry soup which gripped the world outside.

The Receptionist, an immensely pretty and black-skinned girl with bright white eyes and brilliant teeth, greeted them.

‘Can I help you?’ her English was both crisp and clear.

‘We are here to see Dr. Adeyemi,’ Keeno responded.

‘Is he expecting you?’

‘No. Tell him that we are from the RCMP, Canada.’

Jake smiled and whispered, ‘That should get his adrenaline going,’ he quipped.

Moments later a large black oval-shaped man, with a prominently protruding belly, emerged from a nearby door. He portrayed a prosaic image with his black suit and white shirt. A thin black tie gripped his fatty throat and his eyes bulged, as if the tie itself was choking off the air to his brain.

A look of worry was painted on his face, which to Keeno’s sense, immediately betrayed some guilt.

‘I am Dr. Adeyemi,’ he announced with reservation.

‘I am Keeno McCole and this is Jake Williams – we are from the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, in Canada.’

Adeyemi cocked his head with a quizzical look. ‘I know of the RCMP, but why would Canadian law enforcement officials be interested in seeing me?’

‘We have a few questions for you regarding an on-going investigation.’

Adeyemi led them into a small conference facility. He lowered his large form into a chair, with his hands neatly clasped in front of him.

‘Now, how can I help you gentlemen?’

Keeno looked him in the eye, ‘We know about Nb83.’

His utter frankness caught the man off guard, causing his eyes to bulge even more.

Keeno continued, driving the sword even deeper, ‘We also know that you have been in touch with Mai Lin Heng, a Chinese scientist whom we have in custody and who has been advising you on the injections.’

Adeyemi quickly recovered from the shock and with a tensed jaw, he spoke, ‘I do not understand what you are getting at or implying, Mr. McCole.’

Keeno crimped his lips, holding back the impulse to launch another strike. He was on foreign ground, with no official sanctions or authority and this required more tact than he was accustomed to using. And besides, he had promised Ross that they would avoid altercations or violence.

‘Our investigation came upon an encampment in Canada, where victims of human trafficking were being injected with Nb83. We broke up that camp, arrested the Chinese scientist and the trail led us to you.’

Adeyemi’s eyebrow’s bunched up on his pulpy forehead.

‘We are not engaged in human trafficking, I assure you of that,’ he said.

‘No doubt, but you are injecting Nb83 into girls. And some, or many of those are dying, am I correct?’

‘May I ask upon which authority you are here in Nigeria?’

‘It’s unofficial.’

‘Then I am under no obligation to answer your questions.’

‘Do you deny what I said?’

‘I neither deny nor corroborate it.’

‘So you are using Nb83 on girls.’

Adeyemi huffed slightly. ‘You are annoying man, Mr. McCole.’

‘So I’ve been told.’

‘You should return to Canada, you have no authority here,’ at which he began to stand.

Keeno grinned, but not a grin of humor, rather one that carried manifest threat.

‘If we leave now, with no answers, I can assure you that the investigation will only get noisier.’

The large man remained motionless, realizing as he did that these men were not so easily foiled. It was evidently clear that he had to buy himself some time to make a phone call or two, to ascertain the best means of dealing with them.

Adeyemi feigned a calm demeanour, attempting to diffuse the situation. He lowered himself back into the chair and eyed Keeno with hidden distaste.

‘It is true that I spoke to Mai Lin. She was my technical contact in the event of any questions regarding Nb83.’

‘Why did you have to talk to her?’

‘There were some complications with the injections,’ he answered with measured mendacity.

Keeno saw through the veil. ‘What exactly were these issues?’

‘Some of the girls died of internal hemorrhaging.’

‘That’s not an issue, Adeyemi, that’s murder.’

The large man waved the statement off with a dismissive hand. ‘It is all relative, Mr. McCole – when you consider the mass of humanity in our nation. A few deaths in order to advance a science for the good of the many, is justifiable loss.’

‘I assume that none of those deaths were related to you or your family?’ Keeno punched back.

Adeyemi pinched his lips to restrain his angst.

‘How many have died?’

‘I cannot say just yet.’

‘Can’t or won’t?’

‘We don’t know,’ he lied, becoming more exasperated at Keeno’s invasive and persistent attitude.

‘Who did you purchase Nb83 from?’

Adeyemi scrunched his forehead, looking for a way out of the corner into which he had been backed. ‘You are a very strange man, Mr. McCole. You come marching in here and expect me to cooperate with a foreign law enforcement agency – to which, I might add, I am under no obligation to answer to.’

Keeno knew that he was pushing the envelope, but he also knew that people like Adeyemi had skeletons in their closet, ones which they did not want exposed.

He tendered his approach in the hopes of mollifying him, ‘Look, Adeyemi, I am not even vaguely interested in you. I am interested in understanding what Nb83 does and in dealing with the person behind this operation. You can deal with your own skeletons - that’s not my jurisdictional concern. Answer my questions, show me what I came to see and we will be out of your hair within a couple of hours – Ok?’

 

 

Following another harrowing ride, combating the daunting and congested streets of Lagos - they arrived at a large white tent. Around them was a sea of make-shift huts, stretching as far as the eye could see.

Adeyemi led them into the tent where they observed a line of girls receiving injections.

‘Had you arrived one day later, you would have seen none of this, as today marks the end of the injection process,’ he announced with sublime pride.

‘How do you live with yourself knowing what you are doing to these girls?’

Adeyemi wiped the sweat from his forehead with a sweep of his large hand. He motioned to the ocean of poverty around them.

‘I know that all of this must seem strangely bizarre, possibly even inhumane from your perspective,’ he began. ‘But before you judge me, try to stand in our shoes for just a moment. Nigeria has over 170 million people, the 7^th most populous nation in the world and six times the population of Canada. And yet, we are compacted into a land mass which could fit neatly into one tiny corner of Canada. Nigeria is a microcosm of what our world will look like in the next decade or two if global population growth continues unchecked.’

Keeno cast a glance at Jake who was discreetly videoing the conversation on the small phone hidden in the palm of his hand.

‘So all of this is based on some altruistic motive to save Nigeria and the world?’

Adeyemi disregarded the caustic tone of his remark. ‘We are taking a bold and aggressive step forward in order to control population growth. It is no longer a luxury which we can sit back and tolerate. We have no choice, we must stem it.’

‘Why does that make all of this justifiable?’

With evident disdain he answered, ‘Survival is not a moral issue, Mr. McCole, nor is it even an ethical one. Your moral compass in the west is dictated by an entirely different set of circumstances to ours. And believe me, that standard of morality which you flaunt from your high horse, will, in due time, change. When food is not so abundant, when natural resources have been exhausted, when millions of people are starving or disease spreads because of that surfeit of humanity – then you will see a different perspective.’

‘Nonetheless, mass sterilization is a crime,’ answered Keeno.

He waved him off dismissively, as he cast another disdainful glance toward the shantytown.

‘Even if the international community went up in arms against our program, would we be accused of violating human rights, or in fact, would we be seen as pioneers, averting the inevitable? Once again, Mr. McCole, you have the luxury of such morality in your world, but here in Nigeria we must be pragmatic.’

‘I appreciate the lesson in your philosophical rectitude, Adeyemi, but what are the perks for you personally?’

Adeyemi glared at Keeno when his mobile phone rang. He stepped away to engage the call.

Moments later, he returned. Something in his eyes, some definitive change in his attitude, alerted Keeno that the man was up to something.

‘I have things to attend to, Mr. McCole – so please, are you quite done now?’

‘Not yet. Take me to your morgue. I want to talk to someone about these deaths.’

 

On the outskirts of the city, they came to a compound surrounded by a high barbed wire fence. Inside stood two grim looking buildings, gray in colour and shaped like tombstones.

‘What is this place?’ asked Jake.

‘It is a government morgue and one of our disease control centers.’

Once inside the large courtyard, itself guarded by several armed soldiers, they were escorted to an underground level.

Instantly, their senses were assaulted by the stench of fetid death and the pungent smell of ammonia and antiseptics.

Rows of stainless-steel work stations stretched the entire length of the large room. Atop each of them lay the cadavers of young girls and women. The white tiled-floor reflected rivulets of blood and human tissue, disappearing into floor drains, like some bloody Roman arena.

The surreal, if not grotesque scene, was lit by large fluorescent lights, adding a clinical and dehumanizing tone to the already morbid ambience.

The corpses, mostly young girls, stared wide-eyed at the ceiling above. Their midsections were cut open and exposed, a sort of indignity, even in death.

Keeno shuddered at the sight.

Adeyemi broke his trance with his strident voice. Beside him stood a middle aged woman, her dark brown eyes peering at Keeno with some interest.

‘This is Dr. Magami. She is in charge of autopsies,’ he announced with a cunning, fox-like smile. ‘I will leave you in her capable hands,’ at which he abruptly walked away and engaged in yet another phone call.

Dr. Magami looked Keeno in the eyes.

‘What is it you are seeking to know, Mr. McCole?’

Something in her demeanour told him that she was relieved at being able to speak to him.

‘Have you established any commonality with the deaths of those injected with this new drug?’

‘She motioned him to a table where the body of a young girl lay with her lower abdomen sliced open – like a cut of beef.

‘There, you see that inflamed tissue, and those white bulbous-like extrusions?’ she pointed.

He peered more closely and nodded.

‘That is the result of the injection. Whatever this drug is, it certainly destroys their ovaries – that is a consistent factor in all our autopsies. It also appears to attack other organs. Most of these girls died very painfully, with profuse internal bleeding.’

‘Do you know what the drug is?’ he inquired, trying to see if the woman was sincere or just playing him.

She shook her head while casting a contemptuous look towards Adeyemi.

‘I take it that he hasn’t divulged that information to you?’

‘No, Mr. McCole – he has not,’ she said with a slight clench of her jaw. ‘I too am a mother and I can assure you that I am as appalled as you. I see death every day, but this is something different, this is…’ she paused as if reluctant to use the word.

‘Murder,’ interjected Keeno.

She nodded with heavy eyes and then sighed. ‘Unfortunately, in our nation, it is not so easy to fight corruption from within. Not without exposing oneself or one’s family to severe consequences.’

Keeno glanced again at the dissected body lying next to him. He began, ‘The drug is called Nb83. It contains nanobots designed to destroy the ovaries. We first discovered this in Canada.’

Shock exuded from her face at hearing his words. ‘And you know this to be a fact?’

‘Yes – and according to our sources, Adeyemi has injected over half a million girls with it. What else can you tell me?’

The woman reeled from the news, momentarily stunned by the revelation. ‘We have only just recently begun to analyze the results of our autopsies– but I assure you Mr. McCole that it is both virulent and contagious.’

Keeno’s eyes shot up.

‘Contagious?’

She led them to a table in the corner where another body lay covered in a sheet of plastic, caked with blood.

‘All the injections of this particular drug were administered to the left arm, leaving a small puncture. Do you see any puncture on the left or right arms?’

Keeno inspected the body and shook his head.

‘Precisely, and yet, she suffered the exact same symptoms that the other girls died from.’

‘Which means that she contracted the bots through some kind of transmission?’ chimed Keeno.

Magami’s eyes confirmed it. ‘We have not yet established the means, but I would suspect it occurred through lack of sanitary drinking water, which is a major issue in many of our poor districts. It is not likely, however not inconceivable, that transmission occurred through sexual intercourse.’ She shook her head as she paused. ‘Consider this, Mr. McCole, if this drug, containing nanoids as you say, can be transmitted by various means, then is it possible that we are looking at an epidemic level event?’

Adeyemi stepped back into the circle of their conversation at that point.

‘Well,’ he began with specious interest, ‘are you quite happy with what you have seen?’ his lips parted with a toothy grin.

Keeno nodded and then looked back to Dr. Magami. ‘Thank you very much.’

When they emerged from the facility, a taxi was already waiting for them.

Adeyemi extended his hand, ‘Good day, Mr. McCole.’

Keeno had no words and simply turned away – leaving him standing there with his outstretched hand.

As the taxi pulled out of the compound, Jake pressed the SEND button on his phone, transmitting the video footage he had just taken.

‘That should turn some heads when they watch that footage,’ he said, trying to bring some levity to their situation.

The ghostly and pale images of the dead girls still danced in Keeno’s head. It was a haunting spectre, not easily effaced.

Suddenly the driver emitted an indecipherable curse. The man hit the brakes, sending the taxi into an angry, skidding halt.

Two military trucks blocked the road ahead, while a covey of armed soldiers poured out with their weapons trained at them.

 

 

Ross Fletcher stood with his eyes glued to the large screen, watching the lurid imagery provided by the video clips received from Nigeria.

When it was done he took a deep breath, trying to dispel the macabre scene. ‘Do we have any word from them since we received these?’

Kelly shook her head.

Janene spoke, ‘Calvin, can you go back on that video and focus on what Adeyemi is saying in his phone conversation?’

The Ops-Off shifted to another computer and engaged the help of two other technicians. Within moments they had modulated the sound frequencies and raised the amplitude on the background conversation.

‘It sounded like he said, “I will take care of them” and “Mr. Rain”?’ said Janene.

They replayed the barely audible segment several times more. Janene was nodding, as if agreeing with herself, ‘He definitely said something like, “I will take care of them,” and then, “Mr. Rain.”’

It was then that Kelly made the connection.

She jumped up and wrote the name on a nearby white board for everyone to see. ‘Thomas Raihn,’ she exclaimed with a triumphant exuberance, ‘which confirms my theory that AGS Inc. is complicit.’

Janene stared in surprise. ‘Wow, you were right.’

‘This is a new development,’ chimed Ross. ‘Who, may I ask, is Thomas Raihn?’

‘Thomas Raihn is the CEO of AGS Inc – a privately owned bio-tech research company. Their headquarters is located at the Richmond-Adelaide Centre.’

Ross’s expression changed to slight surprise. ‘The same place where that bomb exploded last week?’

Kelly nodded.

Ross felt the wisp of ephemeral hope, like a cool wind suddenly sweeping in over a sweltering desert.

‘You two stay on AGS Inc and find out everything you can about them,’ he said to Kelly and Janene.

He turned to his Ops Off. ‘Get hold of the Canadian Embassy in Lagos. Arrange for them to dispatch a team to locate our boys. I want them out of that place before any harm comes to them.’

The Ops Officer was out the door in seconds.

Janene stayed back, watching Ross with heavy eyes, ‘I don’t know the Nigerian political landscape,’ she started and paused, ‘but what are they really up against?’

‘Nothing good, I can assure you. There are, in fact, two factions of power in Nigeria. The official political government, voted into office by the people, and the military. If the military financed this project, which seems to be the case as shown by their presence in the videos we just watched, then Keeno and Jake are potentially in a very bad place. These people could go to any lengths to keep this under wraps - particularly if Nb83 is part of a coup or some junta in the works. And, they can easily cover up the disappearance of two RCMP officials who are operating outside their legal jurisdiction. In fact, they could even claim it was intentional espionage on our parts and we wouldn’t have a leg to stand on.

‘Oh god,’ she quietly muttered.

 

 

With no less than five soldiers pointing assault rifles in their faces, Keeno and Jake found themselves being shoved into the back of a military truck.

Following a bumpy and bone-jarring ride, they were coaxed at gun point, down a narrow stairwell to a basement level and then locked inside a small shabby room. Its plaster walls were cracked and chipped in countless places. Patches of greasy sweat, dirt and grime and blood spatters adorned the otherwise pale façade.

‘This is a fine mess you’ve gotten us into,’ Jake joked with his usual attempt to lighten even the worst of their circumstances.

‘I get the idea that this place is not exactly where they gave tea parties,’ said Keeno with a nod towards the dried mass of red at his feet.

Jake glanced down, ‘So, what do you think they’re up to?’

‘Judging by Adeyemi’s general lack of philanthropic motives, I would say he plans to get rid of us.’

‘Yeah well, I’m not interested in pushing up daisies in Nigeria,’ said Jake with an evident huff. ‘Besides, I counted only eight men with guns on our way down here. That’s four each – we can easily handle that,’ he said with a flick of his brows.

Keeno was about to comment on his optimism when the door swung open and in walked two soldiers bearing guns aimed directly at them. Behind them came Adeyemi, his protrusive belly swaying ahead of him, as if to herald his arrival.

His face reflected his deprecating tone as he extended his hand, ‘Give me your telephones.’

They handed them over, wherein he disengaged each and then pocketed them.

‘Unfortunately, Mr. McCole, we could not allow you to simply leave Nigeria. Had you taken my advice in the beginning of our conversation, this would not be necessary.

What was your real intention for coming here, Mr. McCole?’

‘You brought us here, at gun point, just to ask me that question?’

Adeyemi’s jaw tightened. ‘Do not play with me. You are in very dangerous waters right now.’

‘I told you already – we wanted to see for ourselves what Nb83 did. And of course, we had hoped to find out who the supplier is.’

Keeno’s gaze intensified on the man. ‘We have been very frank about our intentions, but it would seem that you have been anything but.’

‘Intentions mean nothing, McCole. Action is what counts.’

‘Nonetheless, you did provide us with some useful information.’

‘Which is what?’ asked the man with curiously bulging eyes.

‘We got some very nice shots and video footage of your injection site and the morgue, and those are with the RCMP as we speak. You might be able to get rid of us, but that evidence will still incriminate you.’

Adeyemi responded with a dismissive flick of his hand, ‘That is a pathetic attempt at threatening me. Espionage in our nation carries heavy penalties, tantamount to life imprisonment and possibly even a death sentence.’

‘I’m shaking in my boots.’

‘Hasn’t it occurred to you yet that your life is in danger, Mr. McCole?’

‘As long as there are people like you in the world, that’s a choice I make.’

Adeyemi glared.

Keeno decidedly shifted tactics, realizing that his insults were not getting them anywhere. And besides, he had long ago learned that criminals, such as Adeyemi, were always arrogant men, and that arrogance could be leveraged to his advantage. He resumed, but with a more diplomatic approach.

‘Look, Adeyemi, let’s dispense with the cat-fight. You won this battle, and obviously, you have no intentions of letting us leave Nigeria. So humour me just a little and tell me the real plan with Nb83 – I’m sure you’re dying to get it off your chest.’

The man tipped his head, letting his defences down for just a moment, ingratiating his own sense of self-accomplishment.

‘It is really just a matter of simple politics and economics – nothing more. In order for the military junta to take over the political high-seat of government, which it intends to do, and whom I support in this endeavour, it must possess leverage. Something it can use to turn public will in its favour. A military coup can have flashbacks from the populace, but not if they possess something which assures their continued good favour.’

Adeyemi raised his chin, posturing with a professorial-like stance and continued, ‘The largest problem in Nigeria, bar none, is the surfeit of people. With that comes poverty and unemployment. The true staying power of any governing body here, resides in its ability to resolve those issues. The current governance, the non-military regime, will never engage Nb83 as an answer. They are too soft, much too westernized in their mentality in governing a nation which is not capable of being administered under a purely democratic process.’

He smiled with a toothy gape, ‘Do you know what their solution is for overpopulation?’

Keeno said nothing.

‘Mega-City - a plan to rebuild large portions of Lagos by erasing the blight of poverty; and in the process, they are destroying people’s livelihoods, literally forcing millions to move – but to where? Outside the city of course, where they will simply continue to be even more impoverished. It is a pathetic plan because it does not address the problem.’

‘And yours does?’ challenged Keeno. ‘On what soapbox do you have the right to stand and criticize their planning, when you are sterilizing hundreds of thousands, and killing who knows how many more?’

The man maintained his hauteur stance, trying as he did not to be insulted. He continued, ‘The military community understands that to win any war, there must be a certain degree of casualties. That is why they are so interested in Nb83, as it offers an answer to winning and to remaining in power.’

‘Nigeria is eating itself by the tail, Mr. McCole; nearly 45% of our nation lives at or below the poverty line. By instituting a systematic determent of birth rate, vast amounts of expenditure can be reduced, which will allow a new regime to build a real infrastructure, creating jobs and putting this country in control. The general populace will be less concerned about the fact that millions of poverty stricken people around them are being sterilized, especially when conditions start improving for them personally. When jobs become more prevalent, when people can get medical treatment for themselves and their children, when there is more food on the table and more money in their pockets - they won’t be complaining – in fact, they will laud the new administration.’

‘And you really think this is going to work?’

Adeyemi nodded. ‘Oh, indeed, I do.’

Keeno continued to engage him in talk, all the while trying to figure out his next move, ‘Why not educate them on birth control?’

Adeyemi laughed derisively. ‘How many decades have we been doing that inane methodology – and do you see any positive results? Our population continues to soar, as do other nations. And besides, what others fail to understand is that the Nigerian people do not want birth control. They birth so many children as a means of survival – purely a matter of numbers. Unfortunately, that mentality is antiquated – it worked when we were farmers, hunters and gatherers, but it doesn’t work today. Our people are clustering into cities and towns and the practice of “survival by numbers” has become the very problem, rather than the answer it once seemed, spuriously, to offer.’

Keeno shook his head with a quizzical look, ‘I don’t get you, Adeyemi. You sound like a humanitarian, and yet you are committing mass genocide. It’s paradoxical.’

‘I am first and foremost a scientist. Nb83 is a milestone which no scientist could easily let pass. Nanotech represents a quantum jump in our future, in technology, in medicine, in manufacturing processes, food growth, you name it. I would be crazy to allow such an opportunity to pass by.’

Keeno noticed, as he listened, that both of the soldiers standing nearby seemed to have let their guard down. One of them in fact, had momentarily lowered his gun and was lighting up a cigarette.

‘You won’t be remembered as the man who introduced a new technology, you know that, right?’ said Keeno. ‘The media and history books will spotlight you as the one who sterilized millions of girls and who started an epidemic, maybe even a pandemic, which killed countless thousands or millions more.’

Adeyemi stiffened at the comment. ‘Criminalize me all you want, but history will absolve me of any minor incursions against humanity. In the long run, our culture will be vaulted to new heights, and only because I had the courage and initiative to do so,’ he huffed.

Adeyemi wiped the sweat from his forehead, clearly disinterested in continuing the conversation, but Keeno stabbed out once again, purposely goading him on.

‘Human rights are not a luxury, Adeyemi. If we build our culture while forsaking the rights of people, then we are no better than any other tyranny or oppressive regime.’

The man shook his head with repudiation. ‘And we should permit uncontrolled birthrate, overpopulation, starvation and disease – is that what Canada stands for?’

‘No, but genocide is not an option for any democratic process and never will be.’

He flicked a hand at Keeno, ‘You flaunt such words with wild abandon. Genocide implies ethnic cleansing, and our goal is quite the opposite, we are trying to preserve our race, not destroy it.’

‘What about the hundreds of thousands of sterilized girls, and the thousands who will die, are they just trifle to you?’

‘As I have said, war has casualties and that is the price we pay, and believe me, this is a war.’

Keeno shook his head, casting a furtive glance at Jake, who seemed to understand the tacit purport in his look.

Keeno looked the man in the face, his eyes burning him to the core, ‘You cannot justify injustice against a people and simply try to pawn it off on the rest of the world with that trite and overused line, “The greatest good’. You’re a pathetic criminal and I am going to stop you, count on it.’

The man waved his large hand decisively in the air, ‘It is hopeless to even reason with you. Good bye, Mr. McCole,’ he said as he began to turn toward the door.

Keeno launched into the nearest guard – driving his fist into his face with the full impetus of his body. The sound of cracking bones resonated in the small room as his nose shattered and he crumpled to the floor.

With choreographed timing, Jake lurched at the second man, landing a blow to his temple and dispatching him into a deep state of unconsciousness.

Shocked by their sudden assault, Adeyemi panicked and charged the door. Keeno placed a foot against the small of his back, knocking his bulging form to the floor where he squirmed like a beached whale.

Keeno grabbed up a gun from a fallen guard and aimed it into his face. ‘One sound out of you and I will end your sorry existence. Are we clear?’

The man nodded as beads of sweat formed on his skin.

They gathered up the guns and extra clips from the downed guards, including a hand grenade belt. ‘I haven’t seen one of these in a long time,’ said Jake as he pocketed two of the grenades.

‘We are going to march out of here and into a vehicle,’ began Keeno. ‘You can inform the men outside that if they so much as twitch or scratch their balls that I will scatter your brains, and you know that I will.’

Adeyemi nodded as his eyes bulged to an extreme.

As they opened the door, several guards turned and with shocked looks on their faces they raised their guns.

‘Drop your weapons,’ Adeyemi commanded with alarm in his voice. The men hesitated but then complied.

As they moved along the corridor, up the stairs and out into the court yard of the compound, Adeyemi was busily screaming out orders.

Keeno shoved him into a car and then they screeched out of the compound – throwing up a cloud of dust as they did.

As Jake looked back, two military trucks pulled onto the road behind them. ‘We’ve got company.’

 

 

René Norman, Canada’s Prime Minister, sat in the privacy of his office at Parliament Hill, the nation’s seat of government in Ottawa. He listened with a sense of growing dread as Ross Fletcher detailed the impending disaster.

Ross was executing his due diligence in the matter. The situation had escalated beyond the borders of Canada. And because the ATU was his direct and sole responsibility, it fell on Ross to herald the news straight to the top, where and if, he deemed it necessary.

Even though he was in his final year at the helm of the nation, René Norman still found that all major decisions, and of course, all major catastrophes too, landed on his plate. While he had some very good people in his cabinet, extremely competent players at that, there yet remained an element of irresponsibility exhibited by the collective governance.

He could hardly blame them, for the system was rigged that way. And understandably, people were reticent to make critical decisions about life and death crises, when mistakes in such matters could eclipse their political careers over night.

However, as the Prime Minister, he had already reached the apex of his political career. So in effect, there was only one direction for him to go and that was down. In that knowledge, people were quite willing to let him take the bullet for any major mistakes.

When Ross finished with his synopsis, the PM leaned forward, looking into the screen, speaking through a secure Sat-Link. ‘If you suspect AGS Inc., why have you not acted?’ he probed, his face reflecting his deep concern.

Ross maintained his normal poker face, seeming stolid and unaffected, but in fact concealing his own anxiety.

‘Sir, the problem is quite simple; we don’t have anything substantial with which to close the net. The commentary which we picked up in the video from Nigeria is not sufficient to confirm anything. Moreover, we need to know if Nb83 is in use in any other countries. The potential for an epidemic or even a pandemic is such that we cannot miss on this one. If we move too fast, we lose the investigative thread and that could result in leaving the nanobots out there – like a spreading cancer.’

The Prime Minister shook his head with a sigh of frustration. ‘Now that I know about this, I will probably not be able to sleep until we have it under control. Nonetheless, you and your team have never disappointed me, Ross. I will, as you requested, tell the Minister of Foreign Affairs to give this matter highest priority in getting our embassy to locate your two men in Nigeria. Let’s hope this doesn’t turn into a gunfight as that would not go down very well.’

‘I understand,’ said Ross, tongue-in-cheek, wondering to himself what mess Jake and Keeno would leave in the wake of their current circumstances.

‘I will also hold an emergency meeting today to work out some contingency plans to address this matter.’

‘That’s a very good idea, sir.’

The Prime Minister looked at Ross with an inquisitive, if not amused eye.

‘You know, Ross, sometimes I wonder who is running the show, me or you?’

‘Sir?’

The PM grinned. ‘I’m just pointing out that when you need action at Parliament Hill, you certainly know how to pull my strings.’

Ross tipped his head in a humbled fashion. ‘I assure you, sir, exigency is the driving motivation. Besides, I failed miserably at political sciences while in university – which is why I headed into law enforcement. In all honesty, I couldn’t handle all the mendacious foreplay required to be a politician.’

The Prime Minister smiled at the comment. ‘I wish everyone were as direct and honest as you. Sometimes, life here at Parliament Hill feels more like a theatrical performance, with people acting out their roles. One never quite knows what is going on behind the masks. Keep me posted.’

 

 

Kelly sat staring at the ceiling while Janene occupied herself on the computer. With a deep exhalation, Kelly declared, ‘Well, I for one am tired of running behind the 8-ball. We need to crack this case.’ She stood and assumed a didactic stance. And with a dry marker in one hand and a cigarette in the other, she turned to the white board. ‘Ok girl, let me present my case to the judge and jury.’

Janene crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, seeing that Kelly was about to begin one of her attorney-like orations.

‘There is a common thread here which leads us down the road to solving this,’ began Kelly.

‘I’m all ears, Sherlock?’

Kelly smiled and continued, ‘We now know, to a level of relative certainty, that AGS Inc is involved…’

‘That is suppositional,’ exclaimed Janene with the speed of a prosecuting attorney in a court room setting. ‘We only think they are involved because of that one tiny comment by Adeyemi, which we could barely decipher in his phone conversation. It is still circumstantial at best!’

Kelly frowned. ‘Ok, sustained. Let’s assume then, for the sake of this investigation, that Dr. Adeyemi was actually talking to Thomas Raihn and that AGS Inc. is complicit – Ok?’

Janene conceded with a subtle nod.

‘Supporting this suppositional theory is the fact that AGS Inc. received a massive cash infusion from a secretive backer, which launched the facility several years ago. Considering the size of that London facility, and the equipment and personnel needed to develop nanotechnology from scratch, we can safely assume that the start-up costs, and the maintenance for the last three years alone to be in the range of 250-500 million dollars – minimum.’

‘I don’t get the connection here, so again, these are not relevancies.’

‘Bear with me,’ said Kelly with a flourish of her cigarette. ‘As of several years ago, Thomas Raihn was being dunned by loan institutions, for close to two million dollars after his venture investments went south. His credit rating was relatively in the basement, and yet, he suddenly received a massive cash infusion. Add to that the fact that recently, his credit rating soared out the top, and yet, AGS Inc has not marketed or publicly sold a single commodity or share. The question becomes, how and where did he get the funds to suddenly pay off all his creditors without publicly selling a thing?’

Janene nodded without challenging the logic.

‘Then there is the matter of Mai Lin Heng, a Chinese scientist specializing in nanotechnology. Who by all accounts, is a communist loyalist to the very bone. This suggests to me that the PRC is also somehow implicated in this affair.’

‘Again, suppositional,’ said Janene. ‘How do you know that it is the PRC? It could just as easily be the work of a private Chinese firm, or for that matter, Mai Lin Heng could be hanging out her own shingle.’

Kelly wagged a finger and then proceeded with attorney-like deliverance, ‘I maintain that associative logic suggests otherwise. Do you know how many people have graduated in the field of nanotechnology in China, in the past year?’

Janene shook her head.

‘Twenty-five – and one of them was Mai Lin Heng.’ She tapped her computer with a finger. On the wall monitor appeared a news clipping, written in Chinese.

‘That is an article from a Chinese news paper in Suzhou, a district of Shanghai. In case your Mandarin isn’t up to speed, it announces the home-coming of Suzhou’s local-girl, Mai Lin Heng, soon graduating from Brisbane University. It also says that she has been awarded a senior position at a nearby government research facility.’ Kelly paused to inhale on her cigarette. ‘So you see, Watson, this girl was destined for an important government related position – which makes implausible the idea that she suddenly struck out on her own to engage in such a criminal activity. By way of precedence, such behaviour would also be uncharacteristic of communist Loyalists, who tend to act at the behest of their ideological leaders. This fact alone clearly suggests that there was a collusive intent from within the government circles to plant her on that project.’

Kelly waved her cigarette in the air with a slight flourish as she put the finishing touches to her presentation. ‘It is my contention, theoretically speaking, that there is good reason to assume associative connectivity between AGS Inc., the PRC and Mai Lin Heng. And of course, there is Nigeria and potentially other nations who may well be using Nb83. It is also logical to assume that the sudden influx of cash which Thomas Raihn recently got, came from the sale of Nb83 – which must have been very lucrative.’

By now Janene was starting to see the weave in her logic. ‘I can see why China would finance nanotech development, considering what this would mean to them. But why would Nigeria be a target for the use of Nb83?

Kelly tipped her head, ‘Well, we know from the video which Jake sent in, that Adeyemi and his military backers were interested in a sustainable population growth.’

‘Ok,’ voiced Janene, ‘but if your logic holds true, and if China is backing Raihn, how is that consistent with Nigeria?’

Kelly was lost for an immediate answer.

But the question itself had a reflexive effect, bouncing back at Janene with a sudden and brilliant insight. Why hadn’t she seen it, she thought to herself? It was so obvious.

She took the dry marker from Kelly’s hand and drew a large circle, connecting it to China. Inside she wrote OIL AND NATURAL RESOURCES.

Turning to face Kelly, she continued. ‘China is a major investor in Nigerian oil and natural resources. Not only that, they have invested large sums into the country itself. It would make sense if you consider that the PRC would be interested in stabilizing the country and its governance for the long haul.’

Kelly was nodding her head. ‘Shit, I think you just hit it on the head, Watson.’

 

 

‘Fuck!’ roared Thomas Raihn - pitching his mobile phone across the desk in abject anger.

Billy Tanker entered the office just in time to see the phone crashing into the wall.

Raihn looked up at him. ‘That was Adeyemi from Nigeria. Keeno McCole and his sidekick are there, poking their fucking noses into our affairs, again!’

BT cocked his head with a sincerely surprised look on his face. ‘Are you serious?’

‘How the hell could they have known about Nigeria, let alone Adeyemi?’

‘They have the Chinese scientist in custody – maybe she spilled the beans?’

Raihn made a dismissive and angry flick of his hand. ‘I told Adeyemi to use his connections with the military and to get rid of them.’

‘Is that the smartest thing to do?’

‘I think so,’ answered Raihn. ‘Think about it. We’ll soon be out of Canada, and while the Canadian government is busily trying to clean up their mess, and why they had two agents snooping around in Nigeria, we will disappear, nice and neat.’

BT was silently disappointed at hearing the news of McCole’s seemingly inevitable fate. Since finding out that it had been Keeno who had headed up the assault at their base-camp by Mississippi Lake and later at the Odessa farm, not to mention the messy gun fight in downtown Toronto, BT had been privately looking forward to a personal confrontation with the man. He wanted to settle up the score with him.

‘So, why did you call me here?’ asked BT with a dour tone.

‘I want you to close down this office and the London facility in the next few days. Dismiss all the staff and leave absolutely no loose ends. It’s time to cut the trail for the RCMP.’

 

 

Keeno raced their vehicle through a throng of tightly clustered people. Like some choreographed performance, the wall of bodies casually parted, making a small opening for the speeding car to pass through.

He pressed down on the gas in order to distance them from any civilians, in the event that shooting might occur. Not far behind, the military trucks, with their more powerful engines, were closing in.

Adeyemi sat in the passenger seat. He brazenly announced with a somewhat arrogant look on his puffy face, ‘It is ludicrous to think that you can escape? Let me go and I will negotiate something on your behalf,’

Jake replied from the back seat, sounding like the growl of a grizzly bear, ‘Forget it Hannibal, you already showed your true colors. And besides, give me back our damn phones.’

Jake grabbed the mobiles from the man’s outstretched hand, turned them back on, and then handed one to Keeno.

Just then, a series of shots speared by, barely missing their car. Seconds later, another volley exploded, crashing through the back window. Glass imploded, showering Jake with hundreds of tiny sharp fragments.

He shook off the cutting glass. Then he turned and levelled the assault rifle he had taken from one of the guards, pumping the trigger several times. His bullets clanged into the front grill of the truck without affect.

Jake ducked down just as another wave of bullets streaked by and then he pumped the gun once again, this time tearing into the front left tire of the beast.

The wheel exploded as air gushed through the opening. The truck slumped and lurched to one side, like an elephant suddenly losing its balance at a dead-run. It tipped and skidded off the road, smashing into a nearby building and sending its cargo of soldiers spilling out.

‘Now that is what I’m talking about!’ exclaimed Jake as he slapped another clip into the weapon.

Keeno looked in the rear view mirror as the second truck raced at them, like a shark coming in for the kill. ‘Incoming,’ he announced.

Jake let off several rounds at the second military vehicle. The heavy-duty truck easily deflected the shots and then crushed into the small car, sending it yawing dangerously to one side. Keeno desperately struggled to keep it from overturning.

More bullets pounded in, like metal rain, forcing Jake, face-first, into the back seat; while Keeno ducked and weaved in some futile attempt to avoid being shot. In the passenger seat, Adeyemi was buckled over, screaming for his life.

As he lay there, Jake felt the lump in his coat pocket. Reaching in, his hand emerged with one of two grenades. With a smile, he snapped the safety pin and then tossed it over his head through the shattered back window.

The grenade lanced into the grill of the truck and wedged itself there. Seconds later, the explosion cut the air, shattering the front end of the truck and sending the vehicle lurching forward into the asphalt.

Jake peered over the back seat just in time to watch as it skidded, its nose grinding into the road with a shower of sparks cascading over the vehicle. And then, a ferocious explosion came as its fuel tank ignited in a shattering ball of flames.

‘Nice work,’ announced Keeno as he manoeuvred the car onto the next exit, heading west towards Benin.

‘What’s the plan?’ asked Jake.

‘Not much of a plan,’ announced Keeno, ‘but if we can get to Benin, we should be ok.’

Suddenly there came a shudder, shaking the tiny car, followed by a thundering blast of air which nearly capsized it.

A large military chopper swooped in so close that it flashed up a dust storm, engulfing them in a sea of murk which entirely obscured the road ahead.

Unable to see a thing, Keeno hit the brakes and skidded to a stop.

‘Get out!’ he shouted, just as a hail of death showered down.

 

 

Sergeant Porter and his team raced down the road, tracking the GPS signal from the two phones.

The small Canadian military team, a modest unit maintained by the Canadian embassy in Lagos, had been dispatched with the express purpose of locating the two Canadian agents and escorting them safely out of the country.

It seemed, at first, a simple enough task. Until their GPS signal had suddenly disappeared, leaving them clueless as to where to find the two.

After nearly an hour of anxious waiting, the signal had reappeared, and now Sergeant Porter and his team raced to catch up with it.

‘Sir!’ the driver of the truck suddenly announced.

Porter looked to where the man was pointing.

A military truck sat on its side, like a wounded animal, with its front end impaling a small structure. Standing about it, was a covey of Nigerian soldiers who seemed as angry as a nest of upset hornets.

‘What the…’ he began to say, but his thought process was once again cut off by yet another announcement from his driver.

‘Sir, look!’

Ahead of them was a pall of black smoke rising into the air.

The driver glanced at his sergeant with a quizzical look on his face and asked, ‘I thought this was supposed to be a passive mission. This looks like a war zone?’

 

 

Keeno managed to dive out of the driver side just as the large calibre slugs tore up the seat behind him. Jake meanwhile had squirmed through the shattered back window, just seconds before bullets riddled every square inch of the car.

They quickly distanced themselves, using the cloud of dirt caused by the attack, to camouflage their flight. Within seconds the fuel tank ignited with a blistering shock wave.

A pall of thick black smoke funnelled upwards, the combination of oil, fluids, rubber and other materials, coalescing into a murky cloud which immersed the chopper above them.

Lying there, in the wide open, they knew that they had to do something or death was inevitable.

Jake’s hand brushed against his pants, suddenly reminding him that he still had one last option, however unlikely it may have been.

He reached into his pocket, emerging with the last hand grenade.

With a quick glance at Keeno, he stood. ‘Hope this works.’

As the black cloud of smoke dissipated, the helicopter gunner saw his marks below and he swivelled his gun downwards.

Jake looked up at the nozzle, its single eye staring back at him like a cobra about to strike.

He pulled the pin and then with all his strength, he launched the grenade straight up at the machine.

Chances of getting a grenade to explode near enough to cause significant damage to the chopper, was a throw of the dice. The odds were simply not in their favour. And yet, had they ever taken the time to consider the obstacles in their way, lady luck should long ago have turned her back on them.

At the same instant, the gunner pulled back on the trigger, releasing a new storm of lethal death down at them.

They dove to one side to avoid the onslaught and landed rather unceremoniously, face-first into the dry pasty dirt. The bullets strafed by so close that it sent up a cloud of choking dust.

Just as they were about to lurch to their feet and make a run for it, an ominous silence filled the air. It was uncanny.

The gunner, certain that he had them in his sights, was about to press off another round, when in his peripheral vision he noticed a small object rolling to a stop next to him.

He bent over to get a closer look at the object, and in a final moment of ultimate clarity, he knew that his life was over.

The explosion pierced the air like a gong being hammered. A split second later, the fuel lines ignited, and the resulting concussion was absolutely ear-shattering.

Consumed in flames, the metal bird plummeted to the earth with a thunderous crash – sending a towering ball of flame and a cloud of dark smoke into the air - a final testament to its death.

Keeno dropped tiredly and ungracefully next to where Jake had already plopped. ‘Nice throw.’

Jake’s face was black with a layer of dirt and soot, accentuating his tired smile. He then nodded towards the smoking and barely recognizable remains of their car, ‘Adeyemi?’

Keeno shook his head. ‘He didn’t get out in time.’

They sat there to one side of the road, with the hot baking sun beating down, and further aggravated by the heat of the burning debris around them.

The sound of approaching trucks caused them to turn their heads, watching as the vehicles came to a grinding halt.

To their immense relief, the soldiers who poured out sported Canadian military insignia.

The unit commander stepped up to them.

‘McCole?’

‘Yes.’

‘Sergeant Porter, CAF (Canadian Armed Forces). We were dispatched from the embassy with instructions to get you back to Canada.’

‘I like the sound of that,’ said Jake. ‘How did you find us?’

‘We tracked your GPS signal. Although,’ he grinned as he glanced at the smouldering wreckage, ‘you didn’t exactly make it hard to follow your trail.’

Keeno grimaced slightly, reminded that he had promised Ross that they would not engage in any violent altercations while in Nigeria.

‘We have a chartered flight waiting at the Lagos airport. We can get you cleared under diplomatic immunity, but we must do so before their military or police get hold of you – otherwise, all bets are off.’

Two hours later, they were flying over the Atlantic – during which time Jake resumed his vociferous complaints about the quality of the airplane coffee.

 

 

Ross Fletcher rubbed his tired eyes, having not slept a full night since the case had escalated.

He listened as Keeno, now sitting across from him, related with morbid and detailed imagery, what they had had witnessed in Nigeria.

Although everyone had already studied the photos and short video segments sent in by Jake, the live debrief provided an entirely new dimension to the ghoulish reality. And moreover, it accentuated what was in store for the world at large if they did not stop the spread of Nb83.

On the large wall monitor were reflected the faces of the Canadian Minister of Foreign Affairs and several of his staff present in their conference facility at the nation’s Capital building in Ottawa.

The MFA spoke. ‘In light of what occurred there, we were very lucky not to have a political mess on our hands.’

Keeno shrugged at the comment. His dismissive attitude was clearly manifested in his body language as he spoke, ‘The Nigerian military is not about to make a fuss over this incident. And neither will the formal government, who are, at this very moment, probably still trying to figure out what the hell just happened. We are holding the aces in this deck of cards and they know it. They are waiting to see what our next move will be.’

‘Fair enough,’ the Minister conceded, ‘but it now falls on my plate to navigate these waters and to coordinate diplomatic action to see what we can do to stop this spreading disease. Meanwhile, do we know what other countries, if any, may have been sold Nb83?’

Janene spoke up, ‘We do have a theory on that.’

The MFA tipped his head, inviting her to continue.

‘Our investigative platform suggests that Nigeria was chosen for more reasons than one. While Adeyemi detailed their plans for a military coup, and the use of Nb83 to give the new government a leg-up, we think there is another factor involved.’

‘Which is?’

‘China.’

‘Why China?’ the man asked with a surprised look.

‘The PRC has invested massive amounts of money into Nigeria. Their interest is in the exploitation of oil and natural resources which China desperately needs in order to shore up its global position.’

‘I’m not quite getting the connection here,’ said the Minister of Foreign Affairs.

‘Sir, AGS Inc. was financed, to the tune of an estimated 500 million dollars, to help bring Nb83 into fruition. While that is an estimate, the funds necessary to accomplish that would not be obscure, unless of course it came from a hidden source. Secondly, the Chinese scientist whom we have in custody - was clearly handpicked for this project. There is no mistaking the fact – she is acting at the behest of someone. We just don’t know who yet, but in view of her close ties to the Communist Party, we suspect that she is doing their bidding.’

The MFA let out a breath. ‘You are drawing a very large conclusion from a very small evidential platform.’

‘We do realize that, sir,’ continued Janene. ‘But in our defense, is this; why would AGS Inc. develop the first nanobotic product so that it could sterilize women? Unless of course someone wanted that particular avenue pursued. It is not as if nations are clamoring for the means of mass-sterilization, so one has to ask the obvious question – who benefits from this - monetarily speaking?’

Kelly spoke up and added, ‘We are not trying to paint the PRC as some evil group, although frankly, their Communist platform could use a good enema,’ she smiled. ‘But if one takes everything we know and puts each associative piece into separate boxes – the box with the most pieces points to China. That gives us a firm platform to pursue looking into certain other countries where China has similar interests and stakes.’

‘Such as?’ asked the Minister.

‘Venezuela,’ said Janene. The Chinese have huge stakes invested there, and for the same reasons, oil and resources. In fact, the Venezuelan regime, under Chavez, has warmed up to China, while repudiating America and its allies. They have drawn the line and established two camps, so it is quite possible that Nb83 has already found a home in Venezuela.’

The Minister of Foreign Affairs sighed. ‘This is giving me a headache.’

Ross added to his worries, ‘We also have to consider the fact that the bots can spread through different forms of bodily fluids. This suggests that the original test-group which AGS used, that is, those girls who were injected like mere guinea pigs, could right this minute be a source of a major spreading epidemic.’

‘So why haven’t you moved on AGS Inc if they are suspect?’ asked the Minister with an annoyed tone of voice.

‘We can’t,’ said Ross emphatically. ‘We have absolutely nothing on them except for circumstantial evidence. We have initiated high-level surveillance of their Toronto office and their London facility and hopefully soon we will have them clearly in our cross-hairs. But as I told the PM, to move too early could be disastrous. If we collected up Raihn and his people, and left Nb83 out there, we could be doing the world a disservice – to put it mildly. The only way to win at this one is to cut all the heads off this Hydra.’

The Minister nodded with a somewhat disapproving demeanour. ‘So basically, the purpose of this briefing was to keep me in the loop about more potential messes that my people will have to deal with, is that it?’

Ross glanced sidelong at Keeno and Jake, both of whom had small, but distinct smiles on their lips.

He looked back at the Minister, ‘That’s about it, sir.’

 

 

Thomas Riahn had just toured through the empty, two-story structure, located just two kilometres from the London, Ontario airport. The cavernous silence and the whispering desolation which pervaded the building, now devoid of activity, gave it a somewhat haunting ambience.

The facility had served him well. It had seen them through the entire development phase, resulting in Nb83. And now, on this very morning, he was about to walk away with the first rendition of the nPill.

The nPill, or nanoPill, had been suggested to him by one of the scientists working on Hansen’s team. She correctly pointed out that a digestible pill would be far more efficient to administer on a mass-scale, and far less costly. Thomas had launched Hansen and his team onto the nPill development and now, nearly eight months later, they had achieved the first prototype.

As he stood looking at the research lab, he accorded himself a moment of self-adulation. He had done it, he privately exclaimed, as if cheering himself on. Not only had he seen the project through to fruition, but already, Nb83 was changing the world as hundreds of thousands of women were being injected with it. Their legacy would become his legacy, a testament to the workability of his development.

He returned to his office and collected up the last of his papers, placing them, along with all his flash drives and laptop, into the small briefcase which never left his side.

A knock came to the door and in stepped Gerald Hansen. His face was grim and solemn, with critical and judgmental eyes which he bore more often than not these days. His general demeanour betrayed his intent even before the words emitted from his lips.

‘What is it, Gerald?’ he asked with a condescending tone, and sensing a lecture coming his way.

Hansen approached his desk. ‘We need to talk about the nPill.’

Raihn craned his neck and looked up with specious interest. ‘Isn’t it a bit late to have this conversation?’

Hansen moved in closer. And like a boxer in the ring, he threw his first punch without his usual regard for tact or diplomacy.

‘I disagree that you are releasing the nPill before it has been properly scrutinized in all possible respects. Imbibing the nanoids through the intestinal tract is not the same as a direct injection into the blood stream. We do not know conclusively if there could be other complications.’

Thomas Raihn shook his head with a look of disappointment on his face.

‘I’m sorry that you feel that way about the project, Gerald. We just spent a year testing Nb83. Nearly three-quarter of a million people have now been injected and the only complications have been the ones we already knew about and which I have confided to you.’

‘I know that,’ exclaimed Hansen, his voice resonating off the walls of the empty office. ‘You also said that people have died from the injections. Your entire attitude has been calloused and cavalier, whereas for me it is quite catastrophic that my development is resulting in death.’

Hansen shook his head with contempt, ‘You have injected nearly a million people without their consent to forgoing their right to have children, treating them like mere cattle in a slaughter house. I cannot stand by and permit you to flaunt the nPill as if it were marketable and safe for human consumption - because your ethical compass is perverse at best.’

Raihn huffed. ‘Let’s talk reality, shall we? You talk of the paltry death caused by Nb83, and yet, the cumulative deaths from automobile accidents every year is in the hundreds of thousands globally? Do you see anyone shutting down the auto-industry? Over the counter drugs are printed with warnings about adverse, if not lethal side-effects, and people die of those all the time, but the FDA and other agencies don’t stop their production – do they? In fact, every fucking carton of cigarettes which is sold displays on the package that smoking KILLS, and yet, the cigarette industry continues, undaunted, paying their taxes into government coffers, while their sales increase.’ He glared at Gerald. ‘Please, spare me the lectures about my moral compass – we are surrounded by societal bastions who are themselves the epitome of hypocrisy. The difference is, that they are paying their dues to the government and are protected, and we haven’t been accepted into that circle yet – but our time is coming.’

He calmed himself, in the hopes of bringing some sense to his CDO.

‘Gerald, our alliance has been so good, so ground-breaking – why are you wasting it on this triviality?’ He paused to collect his thoughts. ‘History remembers Oppenheimer as the man who advanced nuclear physics, not the one who dropped the bomb on Hiroshima. You are in the same boat, you broke the nano-code and you made it possible for science to cross a bridge to a new quantum level of technology. Can’t you simply be happy with that and accept the inevitable fact, as I have said before, that all new developments follow a road of evolution – both good and bad?’

Gerald Hansen stood silently listening as those words echoed in his mind.

‘I’m sorry, Thomas, I can no longer stand by and watch you commit crimes against people under the veil of science, business or otherwise. You have simply crossed the boundary between ethical and unethical. I could have tolerated your machinations several years ago when you promised me that we would pursue a higher path. I even convinced myself that you were worthy and that you had altruistic motives – but I was wrong.’

Gerald Hansen stared at Raihn with eyes which bore the brutal honesty of his words.

‘You are a common criminal. You have exploited people, you have trafficked young girls and you have committed them to a life of sexual enslavement. I shudder to think that at this very moment there are countless thousands of young maturing women who are suffering from the side effects of Nb83. And countless thousands more who will cry themselves to sleep every night in the knowledge that their dreams of ever having and raising a family have been destroyed.’

Raihn feigned a grim smile. But in the back of his mind he had just closed the door, with deadly finality, on Gerald Hansen.

‘I am leaving now, Gerald. I would suggest that you too pack up your office and go home.’

Thomas Raihn picked up his briefcase and blew past Hansen, like a cold bitter wind – chilling him to the bone.

 

 

Exhausted, both mentally and physically, Gerald Hansen was looking forward to getting home to his wife and daughters.

Life had become inextricably complex, in ways he could never have imagined. The only remaining thread of sanity which held it all together for him, in fact, two such threads, was the fact that he had opened the doors of science to new realms for humanity; and then of course, there was his family.

Family was family. And in spite of any storms or bad weather, it was a refuge - a safe port of call.

The drive along the 401 East, at this time of night, was a lonely one; particularly on this stretch of highway before Woodstock.

Thick clouds pressed down with an ominous aspect – spurring him to press on in spite of his fatigue.

He was looking forward to sitting with his wife, in idle chat about upcoming Christmas plans, winter preparations for the house - all over a glass of wine, and then followed by a good night’s sleep.

His mental maundering was suddenly and brutally shattered by the bone-jarring jolt.

Gripping the steering wheel to steady the car, he looked into his rear-view mirror and watched as the surreal and somewhat horrifying image grew larger and larger.

Once again, the black SUV pounded into him, this time striking so hard that it sent his vehicle yawing to one side.

As panic and terror exploded inside, Gerald fought to bring the car back in line with the road. The SUV pressed in again, with an angry crash, pushing him off the road just enough so that his front tire dipped into the soft shoulder.

In the seconds that followed, Gerald Hansen’s entire life flashed before him. The car flipped in the air and then came crashing down onto the pavement with an agonizing crunch – crushing its roof.

It skidded along, on its rooftop; metal gnashing against the asphalt, sending up a shower of sparks into the air. With a final screech it slid to a stop – its engine coughing and moaning like a wounded and bleeding animal in the final throes of death.

As he tried to move, Gerald felt the intrusive and overwhelming pain. Looking down, or up, he wasn’t sure which in his delirious state - he could see the steering column pressed hard against his chest. A wide gash had opened up, letting his life-blood gush out, forming a pool of crimson on the seat around him.

He watched, languishingly, as a car stopped nearby. A man stepped from it, walking toward him with measured control. And in spite of his near-unconscious state, he recognized that gait.

Billy Tanker stooped down, looking at him through dark beady eyes. A grim and satanic smile formed on his lips as he watched the blood oozing from the mortal wound.

‘You’ve got just a few minutes before you bleed out,’ said Tanker with indifference. ‘You should have listened to Raihn – you should have shut up.’

BT reached past the man and pulled his large satchel from the floor. He checked the contents and then tilted an eye at Gerald. ‘You won’t need these where you’re going.’

Gerald Hansen’s eyelids fluttered as he fought off inevitable death. Already, his body was numb, the signs which bespoke his coming end.

‘You bastard,’ he uttered torpidly – the last words he would ever say.

Billy Tanker watched him die.

 

 

Sitting in the interrogation room at Toronto’s RCMP headquarters, Mai Lin Heng was filled with a sense of dread.

Already, she had suffered through several days, in the solitude of a holding cell in Ottawa. Then, without even a word uttered as to why, they had transported her here to Toronto.

The forces of guilt and dread seemed to catalyze inside of her, forming a vortex which threatened to consume her very soul.

Keeno and Jake stepped into the room.

She looked up at the man. Keeno fixed his gaze on her with a discomforting glare – causing her to stiffen and flinch.

He found it particularly effective in setting the mood, and at penetrating the layers of bravado and deception which guilty people used to protect themselves. Guilt was in fact law enforcement’s best ally in fighting crime. And like a double-edged sword, it cut deep into the doers.

Without a word, he pressed a remote which activated a wall-screen. For the next few minutes they watched, in silence, the very video footage they had taken in Nigeria.

He turned to face her. ‘That is the direct result of Nb83.’ Pausing to let it sink in.

‘As hardened as you may think that you are I happen to know that honour means something to you. Otherwise you would never have wasted your entire scientific career, and life, on proving your loyalty to Uncle Mao.’

Her eyes compulsively flicked back to the horrid images on the screen.

‘We have prepared this press-release, which you can see here,’ he clicked.

 

CHINESE SCIENTIST RESPONSIBLE FOR AN EPIDEMIC RESULTING IN THOUSANDS OF DEATHS AROUND THE WORLD

 

Her eyes opened wide, shattering her steely display of fortitude. ‘You cannot say that about me, it is not true.’

‘Oh yes it is.’ He pointed an accusative finger at her. ‘You’re the one who injected the girls. You are the one who gave them a clean bill of health, after which they were sent off to lead lives of prostitution. You are the one who gave technical support to Adeyemi, who was injecting hundreds of thousands of girls.’ He paused. ‘And by way, Adeyemi is dead – and not by our hand.’

Mai Lin’s controlled aspect was crumbling at the edges as the emotion tore at her like a tsunami. She began to tremble and shake.

‘Whether the PRC authorizes the use of Nb83 on its own people or not, China is still going to get mowed down in the wake of a potential pandemic.’ He pressed the remote and another projection came up displaying a series of charts.

‘Look at those projections. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what will happen. Those extrapolations are based on the correlative spread of the bots, just in Nigeria alone.’ He looked at her, intensifying his gaze, ‘Do the math, Mai Lin, how long before this becomes a global event?’

‘Are you saying the bots are contagious?’

‘You must have seen that when you did your tests.’

‘I was told that they were not contagious. My job was to monitor the injections and to record the results – it was all very controlled conditions,’ she blurted out, in a vain attempt to ameliorate her guilt.

He watched as her face paled.

‘They are absolutely contagious – to what degree, we still don’t know. But certainly they can be transmitted by blood, apparently by water, and possibly even through sexual intercourse.’

She watched him with heavy eyes.

‘Now you understand. If those bots can survive for weeks, or months, maybe years or even indefinitely, then they can move from person to person, systematically destroying the reproductive systems of women all over the world. Is that what you wanted, Mai Lin? Were you trying to wipe out your own people, not to mention the rest of humanity?’

Her lips trembled. Tears streamed down her cheeks as rivers of guilt suddenly unleashed from her sickened soul.

Keeno waited for the full impact to settle in and then he spoke. ‘You won’t be making it back to China any time soon. Unfortunately your fate is already sealed and you will face a severe prison term here in Canada. But you can do something to save your own people and that should give you some sense of redemption while you do your time.’

Mai Lin wiped the tears from her face and looked at him with defeatist eyes, ‘What do you want from me,’ she capitulated.

‘One name,’ he said with a raised finger, ‘the man who recruited you for this project.’

 

 

As the head of the Department of Public Health Services for Barquisimeto, the fourth largest city in Venezuela, it fell upon Javier Santos Flores to oversee their newest initiative. It was called Operation Poquito - Spanish for ‘a little bit’.

Given the auspicious federal stamp of endorsement from his superior in Valencia, Operation Poquito was described as cutting edge and secretive.

Flores had felt an exuberant sense of self-importance at having been selected for this beta-testing. It made him feel special that they had inscribed “FOR YOUR EYES ONLY” on the packaged delivered to him.

Status and reputation were critical elements to success in his nation. And once one had established himself on a certain pecking order, it was smart to peck only those below and never those above one. It was for that reason that he accepted and never challenged the mandates of his superiors.

Already well into their fifth week of injections, close to 15,000 girls from surrounding villages and municipalities had been processed and injected. His team simply moved their small caravan, town to town, village to village, following the designated plan. In this way they could easily administer the injections and be gone within a day or two – with little exposure or questions asked.

Everything seemed to be going along quite well, that is, until the door to his office burst open with an angry crash. An elderly, gray-haired man charged in like a storm on the open seas.

His face was burning with rage and his eyes were wide and fierce as he spoke, ‘How dare you?’ he slammed the palm of his hand into Javier’s desk.

Shocked by the sudden intrusion and emotional outburst, he flinched at first. But then he recognized the intruder. He was the Director of the region’s largest hospital.

Javier flashed back with authority, ‘What is this?’

The man, Dr. Hugo Hernandez, huffed and then tossed a sheet of paper on the desk, restraining from throwing it into Javier’s very face.

‘That report was just compiled by one of my hospital administrators. Read it!’ he insisted remonstratively.

A moment later, Javier ran his fingers through his hair as the impact struck him. He was speechless, quite lost for words.

‘What is this “health’ program you are administering to young girls and what exactly is in this injection which is causing so much death?’

Javier faltered. ‘I do not know. It was passed to me by the Federal Health Ministry with instructions to initiate the program.’

The doctor looked at him with a stare that could have melted steel. ‘Are you so stupid as not to question what you are being told to administer to people in the name of their health?’

Javier flushed red with a sudden defensive posture, ‘I do not challenge my superiors. I trust them to give me valid directions.’

The older man raised an incriminatory finger at him, ‘Then you are indeed an idiot and cannot possibly qualify to hold a public office. I have forty-four young girls, dead, in my morgue alone, apparently all as a result of your injections. How many more will we find when we inquire at the other hospitals in the region?’

Javier shuddered at the thought.

‘I insist that you close-down this operation, now, and I demand to see what you are injecting those girls with.’

‘I must first contact my superior …’ Javier began, but the older man cut him off.

‘To hell with you – I will contact them myself. You are a disgrace to humanity,’ he proclaimed and then he stormed from the office.

 

 

Ross Fletcher sat pensively, while looking through the glass partition which separated the War Room from the rest of the RCMP’s central hub.

Across the table sat Jake and Keeno and off to his left were Janene and Kelly. The Operations Officer, as always, was nearby.

Whether it was premonition or just simply a bad feeling about the whole matter, the prospect of Keeno and Jake flying to Macau, in China, made Ross very uneasy. In fact, the more he considered the events of just the prior year, the greater was his resolve to give a resounding NO.

He turned to face the group. ‘I don’t like it.’

Keeno spoke, continuing his argument.

‘Look, Ross, we have the name of the man who is reportedly the go-to-guy and who is behind the PRC’s involvement with AGS. He named Mai Lin Heng as a candidate for this project. He is a player, not a pawn.’

‘Yes, but what can you possibly accomplish by attempting a meeting with him – if that is even possible?’ challenged Ross.

‘If I can get to him, I can reveal what Thomas Raihn is not telling him - the truth about Nb83. And if the Chinese cut their funding and support, then we can kill this whole thing at the source and save ourselves a lot of time and trouble.’

Ross dug in his heels, repudiating the logic. ‘It’s touchy, Keeno. You two are not exactly on the welcome list in China, especially after last year’s incident in Shanghai. Not to mention the fact that you are on record for slinging shit at the PRC at any opportunity you get.’

‘I know that and I make no secret of my distaste for their Maoist platform. At the same time we have a small window of opportunity here. If our intelligence reports are correct, Wei Ton will be in Macau for the next few days. That gives us a higher probability factor of getting to him than elsewhere on mainland China.’

Ross felt his defensive stand starting to crumble, but he still refuted with a firm look. ‘When it comes to fighting the bad guys, I don’t know of a better team than you two. But in the matter of diplomacy – honestly, Keeno, that is stretching the envelope.’

Keeno shrugged. ‘I can’t argue against that point, but if it makes you feel any better, we will leave all our weapons here.’

Jake cast a surprised look at him.

Janene came to Keeno’s rescue, ‘Ross – there is some logic to this. While I agree that it is a long shot, considering that Wei Ton is a very elusive and closely guarded man – the opportunity to inform him of the true consequences of Nb83 could save everyone a lot of trouble. Right now we have no idea how many other nations are in possession of Nb83. Wei Ton will certainly know that information. The worst that could happen is that he repudiates the information and refuses to accept our offer of help. And of course, there is always the chance that he already knows about the downside with the bots. But I think there is still merit in at least letting the PRC know that we are onto them,’ she nodded at Keeno with a demure and irresistible smile.

Ross was still shaking his head, ‘The worst case scenario for me is that they step into Chinese jurisdictional territory and are promptly arrested and we never see them again.’

Keeno leaned in, ‘Ross, take any consideration about us out of this equation and just look at the obvious facts. If the PRC is supporting AGS, and if this stuff is being used in other countries, then this is our fastest means of slowing or stopping it. If we can convince Wei Ton that Nb83 is a threat to themselves and to their investments – he can cut this off faster than anyone. I know you are worried about our welfare, but I don’t see any other options right now.’

Ross sighed with a sense of resentful capitulation. ‘Ok, but I am reminding you, no altercations. I don’t want to be forced to call in a PR team to clean up some mess in China. And I am certainly not interested in getting a phone call informing me that you two are in a Chinese prison somewhere.’

 

 

 

Once they had cleared immigration, Keeno hailed a taxi and headed straight for the casino district, booking into the Venetian Macau, one of the largest and factually, titanic casinos in the world.

After a shower and a change of clothes, they were ready.

‘We want this guy,’ said Keeno as he pushed his mobile phone across the table for Jake to see.

‘Wow, and that’s the best shot we have of him?’

Keeno tipped his head, ‘He’s not exactly in the public spotlight very much. Wherever he goes, he is surrounded by half a dozen gorillas packing hardware. No one takes pictures of this guy and if they do, they probably lose a finger or two in the process.’

‘So then what, he’s the PRC’s banker?’

‘More like an investment broker; a sort of think-tank guy who looks for investment opportunities for the PRC money vaults. When he finds them, he throws it up the flag pole. And when he gets the green light, he sends his people out to negotiate the deals.’

‘Why does he come to Macau so much if he is low-key? This isn’t exactly Kansas.’

‘Apparently he has two vices.’

‘Don’t tell me,’ began Jake with a leer, ‘gambling and women?’

‘Exactly, and in particular, well endowed blonds, which are not commonly found in mainland China.’

As they entered the casino they were suddenly enveloped in another world.

The ambient lure of bells and sounds emitting from countless machines, the provocative scent, the exotic women clad in small tops and revealing panties - serving the endless rows of people with drinks. A sort of hypnotic appeal intended to mesmerize patrons into gambling.

Jake spotted Wei Ton sitting at one of the Black Jack tables. As to be expected, he was surrounded by several very large and formidable looking Chinese men.

They moved to a nearby bar and ordered a drink.

As Keeno glanced back at the table where Wei Ton sat, a very seductive blond happened, at that moment, to sweep by, casting an inviting smile at the man.

Wei Ton’s hormonal radar instantly picked up on her scent and he looked up. With the grace of a pro, she spiced the moment with a suggestive and titillating thrust of her more than ample breasts. Wei Ton watched her pass by, his eyes seemingly glazed over by the sight of her.

The blond continued with her measured and rhythmic swish, arriving at the very bar where they sat. She eased herself onto a stool at the far end. Her high-slit sequined dress revealed an inviting thigh, a call to any man with the right sized pocket-book.

With his eyes transfixed on her, Jake commented, ‘Now that one comes with a serious price tag.’

‘Indeed,’ said Keeno as he stood. ‘I’ll be back.’

Jake grinned, ‘And there goes the RCMP pimp, hard at work,’ he muttered.

Keeno sat next to the blond and engaged her in conversation. After a short time, he was back.

‘I’m assuming that was business, otherwise Janene will kill you, you know that, right?’

‘Oh, believe me, I know. Anyhow, let’s see how this plays out.’

Moments later, the same blond, a professional escort in fact, tactfully made her way back to the Black Jake table. With a sultry weave she slipped up close to Wei Ton with the ease and grace of a ballet dancer. Leaning over to afford him a clear view of her ample cleavage, she whispered something into his ear and a smile formed on his lips.

‘What now?’

‘We wait,’ answered Keeno as he sipped on his beer.

Within the hour, Wei Ton had left the Black Jack table with the blond by his side and his protective detail close behind.

As they passed by, she cast a subtle but definitive glance at Keeno.

‘We’re in.’

‘Besides proving your pimping skills, what exactly does that mean?’ asked Jake.

‘I gave her a little financial incentive to pass a message to Wei Ton.’

‘And what might that be?’

‘Room 1214 – Nb83”.

‘That’s it?’

‘If I’m right, Wei Ton won’t be able to resist the temptation to find out what we know.’

After two more beers, the combination of alcohol and lack of sleep was dulling his senses, so Keeno decided to take a walk, while Jake returned to their room.

Following two cups of strong coffee at a local cafe, Keeno arrived back at their suite. He keyed the door and entered. As he did, he felt the impact of something hard and sharp striking the back of his head - and then he felt nothing more as blackness crowded in.

 

 

It was the painful throbbing in his skull which pulled him back from the murky depths of unconsciousness.

As he opened his eyes, the light speared in with agonizing pain, exacerbating the pounding headache which assaulted him.

Two grim-faced Chinese men reached down, grabbed him and then pitched him into a chair. As they tightened the cinch on the cord which they tied to his hands, Keeno saw Jake sitting nearby.

His wrists were similarly bound and on one side of his face was a bruise which hadn’t been there just an hour or two before.

‘I see they got to you too.’

Jake forced a grin, ‘Yeah, somehow, I missed the invitation to this party,’ he sneered at one of the thugs.

Keeno was about to comment when a fist smashed into his jaw, the impact of which sent his head spinning all over again. When the pain cleared, he looked up at the man who had just knuckled him.

‘You’re going to be sorry you did that, pal’ he said with brash disregard for his situation.

The hulk’s jaw tightened, taking the comment as an insult, and then he threw yet another punch which caught Keeno squarely on the jaw. Blood spilled from his split lip.

The door to the room opened and in walked Wei Ton himself. He raised an authoritative finger at the man, signalling him to stop.

His manner and his silent use of such gestures, betrayed the immense power he could leverage.

First impressions suggested two things to Keeno. Wei Ton’s expensive suit and the Rolex on his wrist - outwardly manifested the true character of the man within. And yet, there was an air of controlled conservatism about him. As if he were holding himself back.

Keeno’s assessment of the man was spot-on. Wei Ton was caught in the middle of two very paradoxical worlds. On one side was his loyalty to the Chinese Communist Party, one which ruled with a steel glove. On the other side stood Capitalism and the West – which the Chinese depended upon just as surely as they bowed to Maoism. Resultantly, Wei Ton was forced to walk a very diplomatic tight rope between the two worlds.

He grinned, ever so subtly, ‘I see that you have not changed your ways, Mr. McCole.’

‘How do you know me?’

‘We know all about the infamous Keeno McCole and your intrusive tactics on our soil this past year.’

Keeno shrugged, ‘Do you really want to open up that can of worms?’

Wei Ton stepped closer, his mild demeanour replaced by a grim aspect and with his hands clasped with near perfect symmetry behind his back. ‘I could have you arrested and sent to the mainland to face charges of espionage – you do realize that?’

Keeno shook his head with complete disregard for the threat, ‘Why don’t we get to the real point – Nb83’

Wei Ton stiffened.

‘Come on, Wei, you got the message, so let’s dispense with the foreplay.’

Keeno spit out some blood from his split lip. ‘The pertinent question is why are you secretly financing AGS Inc?’

‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’

‘That’s interesting, because we have a certain Chinese scientist by the name of Mai Lin Heng, back at RCMP headquarters in Toronto, and she says otherwise. In fact, she claims that you hand-picked her for the program, which you and your government are backing.’

‘You are making this up,’ he shot back, manifesting some strain, as evidenced by the sudden tension in his eyes.

Keeno had to remind himself that he was there on a diplomatic mission. He eased up his approach and continued with more measured control in his words.

‘Look, we didn’t come here to fight with you or your government.’

Wei Ton stepped over to a nearby table, picked up a chair and then placed it with incremental precision in front of Keeno. He then sat across from them.

‘You have an odd way of calling for a meeting, Mr. McCole. Why did you send a blond to do your work for you? Didn’t you think that would make me suspicious of your intentions?’

Keeno forced a smile through his painfully swollen lip. ‘Untie us so we can have a respectable conversation,’ he demanded.

Wei Ton motioned to the nearest man who then cut their bonds. Keeno massaged his wrists and then his jaw, while casting a dangerous eye at the hulk.

‘We happen to know a little about your proclivity for blonds, and besides, would you or your goons have accepted me with open arms or her?’

Wei Ton tipped his head, ‘Point taken. Now, tell me more about this supposed program of which you claim that we are supporting.’

‘I’m sure that you already heard that we busted up a camp in Canada and took some thirty girls from under their noses. We also visited Nigeria and saw the results of Nb83?’

The man stared back without the slightest change in his demeanour.

‘I assume that no one has informed you that the nanobots are contagious?’

Wei Ton tilted his head to the right, while his lips creased slightly, neither a smile nor a frown – but clearly a sign that his mind had just been sent down another road.

‘Why are you telling me this?’ asked Wei Ton.

‘Who else would I go to but the man who negotiated the deal in the first place? You don’t have to tell me the truth, and besides, I know that you will play the denial card anyhow. I came here for one reason only - to give you and your government backers a chance to reconsider your position in this matter.’

‘What exactly is that supposed to mean?’

‘It means that we are closing the net on this operation – and unless you want your name and the PRC implicated, you might want to reconsider your actions.’

Wei Ton maintained his grim countenance.

‘If Nb83 is contagious, and it is, it will have the potential of killing thousands, millions or more. We don’t know yet. If those bots can spread and if no one has a way of stopping them, what is there to say that they won’t spread to all women, including your own? It could take years, even decades, but if they can’t be stopped then what have you gained? A pandemic will kill Chinese women just as indiscriminately as it will kill anyone else.’

Wei Ton said impassively. ‘You are making a quantum leap from an ant hill to a mountain.’

‘Not really,’ said Keeno as he turned to Jake, ‘show him the video footage we took in Nigeria.’

Jake’s hand emerged with his mobile phone and handed it to Wei Ton.

The man watched, blank-faced and then handed the phone back. ‘This proves nothing.’

‘But what if we’re right – are you really willing to put the rest of world to the test? Even that would screw up Uncle Mao’s plans, wouldn’t it?’

‘Get to the point, Mr. McCole – I have things to do?’

Keeno grinned, ‘Yeah, I’m sure. Anyhow, use your leverage to put this project on hold. If you continue to allow this nut job, Raihn, to sell Nb83, you are putting every nation in jeopardy. I’m not even asking you to forsake your investment. I am simply asking that you stop it from becoming a pandemic.’

Wei Ton stiffened noticeably. ‘And assuming that any of this true, what if we did nothing?’

Keeno tipped his head with a look of resolve in his eyes. ‘Let me put it diplomatically – if you don’t take this advice, then we will stop at nothing – and that includes you.’

The man stood, posturing with a pronounced authoritative stance as if to embolden himself.

‘Our discussion is over, Mr. McCole. Please collect your things. My men will escort you back to the airport.’

Keeno stood to face him with a look of sincere concern in his eyes. ‘I know you don’t like being told what to do – because you’re the one usually dishing out the mandates. And I am quite sure that the boys in the home office wouldn’t be too happy to hear that Nb83 is contagious. But, in the interest of our mutual survival, since we do share this planet, I hope you make the sensible decision.’

They collected up their travel bags and stepped toward the door.

Keeno turned as if to say something to Wei Ton. Instead, his right fist speared out like a missile and his knuckles plowed into the jaw of the very man who had earlier struck him in the face. The blow sent him crumbling into the wall.

Keeno glared at Wei Ton.

‘Yeah, I know, diplomacy never was my strongest point.’

 

 

 

News that Keeno and Jake were on the flight from Macau came as a great relief to everyone.

Of course, in his phone-brief from the Macau airport, Keeno had omitted to mention that they had been knocked out, tied up and had accrued some new bruises in the process of their “diplomatic mission”.

Janene was looking forward to seeing Keeno. It seemed so desolate in her life without him around. And even though the man was not particularly known for his conversational skills, just having him there was inexplicably fulfilling.

She stayed behind with Kelly, working well into the night. Now that she had presented their theory to the Minister of Foreign Affairs, she had to put her money where her mouth was – proverbially speaking.

Any attempt they had made at contacting Venezuelan officials on the matter was rebuffed or simply lost in a maze of convoluted referrals. After hours of waiting, talking and being put on hold, it was clear to both that no one in any official capacity was about to cooperate. There was an undertone of antagonism which seeped through – a sort of, “Why should we cooperate with you – an ally of those bastards, the Americans”. As if in fact every American was a personal enemy of the Chavez regime. It was, nonetheless, frustrating and eventually they had to give up that particular approach.

They even contacted the WHO, the World Health Organization, to see if any reports had filtered through to them concerning something vaguely resembling the symptoms of Nb83, but they had nothing to offer. But they were certainly interested, especially considering that they were now wading through the bureaucratic mud of Nigerian officialdom in order to deal with the spread of Nb83 there.

As the hours passed, fatigue took its toll on her. With it came a sense of pervasive futility and a growing doubt that maybe they were walking the wrong road. Possibly their rationale for targeting Venezuela was entirely faulty.

Kelly however, was not daunted and she continued - dedicatedly searching the internet for any clues. She was convinced that the x-factor in the equation would surface and that it was just a matter of time.

As opposed to blunting her enthusiasm, Janene decided it was time to succumb to the cry for sleep.

The taxi driver dropped her off in front of the classic Victorian two-story building where she lived on Hazelton Ave in Yorkville.

She fished tiredly through her purse in search of her key. The cold night air brushed her face -reminding her that soon she would be steeped in a hot bath. In her hand would be a cup of her favorite tea. And then the coup d’etat - the welcoming arms of her warm bed.

Finally, with her key in hand, she looked up. To her utter shock she found herself looking into the face of a man. His cold eyes and expressionless countenance immediately forebode his intent.

She lashed out with her right knee, attempting to jab it into his groin. He deftly thwarted the attack and then grabbed her by both arms, while a second man came up behind her, placed a rag over her mouth and held it there.

Janene struggled with all her strength – but she was no match for the two muscle-bound apes. The acrid taste burned the back of her throat and within seconds she felt the numbing effect of the drug.

 

 

Ross Fletcher raced down the stairwell with several people in tow. He blew into the office like a gust of angry wind.

Kelly sat staring at her computer, her eyes wide with horror and her face a pallid, sickly white.

Ross looked over her shoulder at the macabre scene. The video showed Janene with her hands tied to a hook above her head and her mouth taped. A single bulb dangled in the air above her – casting a dull glimmer which reflected the panic in her eyes.

The only sound which could be heard was that of her muted and stertorous breathing.

The video lasted several minutes.

Kelly looked up at Ross, a look of suppressed terror in her face, ‘She left here last night, around midnight, and when I came in this morning this video popped up on my mail.’

‘And there was no note or message with it?’ asked Ross.

Kelly shook her head. ‘I tried tracing the IP address, but it dead ends.’

Ross turned to the Ops Officer, ‘Ping her phone, maybe we can get her GPS coordinates,’ he commanded.

The Ops Officer raced from the room.

Ross ran a hand over his tired face. Why send a video with no ransom note or message, he wondered?

Kelly looked like a rag doll, defused and deflated – as she sat with a look of total shock on her face. She had stayed up half the night, well after Janene had gone home. Exhaustion added to her current distraught state of mind.

The Ops Officer re-entered the room almost as quickly as he had left.

‘The GPS coordinates go to a location near the waste water treatment plant in Ashbridge Bay, near Lakeshore Boulevard East.’

For a moment all eyes were on Ross. The room was now filled with RCMP personnel, each of whom was ready to act, just awaiting his order.

Ross pinched his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, to help relieve some stress.

‘Something is wrong with this picture. It’s too easy. If we could ping her phone, it means they wanted us to find her.’ He sighed. ‘Unfortunately, I think that this video was a message.’

‘For Keeno,’ mumbled Kelly as she continued to look at the floor.

Ross nodded. ‘Someone is purposely drawing him to this location. I suspect that whoever it is, wants a one-on-one fight with him. That’s how I read the signs,’ said Ross as he tiredly leaned back against a desk.

‘Should we inform Keeno?’ asked Kelly.

Ross shook his head with an emphatic and resounding no.

He turned to Calvin, ‘I want surveillance on that property. Get our best long ranger shooters on the rooftops. No one fires a bullet until we have boots on the ground. Meanwhile, get an assault team ready to leave within the hour.’

He turned back to Kelly. ‘When does Keeno land?’

She glanced at her watch. ‘Thirty-five minutes.’

Ross shook his head, thinking as he did that this couldn’t have happened at a worse time. He had a meeting with the Prime Minister and key players from Ottawa in just two hours. How the hell was he going to explain this to them, he thought? And for that matter, was her abduction even connected with the on-going Nb83 investigation or was it something else?

 

 

When Thomas Raihn finally passed through customs in Geneva, Switzerland, he let out a long awaited sigh of relief.

With the RCMP so close on his heels, getting out of Canada when he did had become critical. In fact, the meeting in Geneva could not have come at a better time. With it, he could close up the next major deal and then be off to his new home – a place where Canadian law enforcement agencies could not touch him.

As he sat in the taxi, he wondered if Gerald Hansen’s death had been quick and easy or a painful one. He never asked for the details – he simply paid Billy Tanker enough money to do what he deemed necessary.

There was however, a tiny, infinitesimally small glimmer of guilt hanging in the back of his mind. Not over the death of Hansen, which he had signed off on. Not at all! The only sense of minor remorse he allowed himself was over the fact that he had wasted such a brilliant scientific mind and one which could have been tapped in more ways than one. That Gerald had died a brutal death at the hands of BT, that his daughters would grow up fatherless and that he had been cut down like an animal – none of that really mattered to Raihn. It was, after all, just business.

His philosophy, if it could be called such, was that life was a simple matter of cause and effect – and one either stayed on the cause side of the fence or one became an effect, a victim. Hansen had crossed the line and had declared himself the enemy – and on that count, he had to go.

His thoughts drifted from Hansen to yet another man. News that Keeno McCole had not only evaded the Nigerian military, but that Adeyemi had been a casualty of their attack, had come as a shock. His uncanny ability to survive and to show up at the most unexpected of times was starting to haunt Raihn, like a ghost. To his surprise, BT had come forward with a brilliant plan, and one which he seemed to savour with particular interest. And though he never said the words to Raihn, he suspected that BT was looking forward to settling a score with McCole.

The taxi stopped in front of the Grand Hotel Kempinski and within the hour he was seated in one corner of a private lounge.

Forming a small semi-circle around him, sat three others. Two of them were elderly men, both in their late sixties. The third, a woman, he placed around fifty years of age, judging by the tinge of grey hair and the signs of advancing wrinkles which beset her face.

They were dressed to the nines, with the best quality apparel and jewellery. All of which betrayed the value for which their employer perceived their services.

Referring to them as salesmen would of course be an inappropriate term to describe their status. These people were negotiators, representing one of the largest global leaders in pharmaceutical drugs. In fact, combined with the illicit drug trade, the revenue from this commercial enterprise alone was probably greater than any other.

Raihn had done his homework and he knew that the big bucks resided here, in the pharmaceutical field. It was for that very reason that he had used his leverage, along with an element of threat, to coerce Gerald Hansen into following his lead in the development of Nb83.

So lucrative was this field, that over the last several decades, pharmaceutical companies had strategically imbedded themselves into the very households of billions of people. At great cost, they engineered colossal marketing campaigns with which to re-educate the general public into an entirely new mindset. Their goal was simply to “normalize” the prolific use of over-the-counter drugs; and to make it as normal to pop pills as brushing one’s teeth.

Raihn had studied the statistics and the trends, showing the prolific, in fact, exponential growth of the legal drug industry; both in terms of medical drugs and of course, psychotropic drugs – those used in treating “mental illness”. The industry had even opened up a whole new market, that of drug dependent children who were now taking mind-numbing drugs from an early age to resolve their “learning disorders” and other natural impulses.

An entire industry had been fabricated on Darwinian Theory alone – that the genetic code, the DNA, and the chemical balances in the brain, could be modified with drugs, thereby changing human behaviour. With the help of endorsements from government agencies, such as the American Medical Association (AMA) which had given their stamp of approval for over 400 mental illnesses, the pharmaceutical industry was busily coming to the rescue with even more pills.

Raihn had seen the green light, or rather, the flash of green-back, money, and decidedly set his ship on a course which would capitalize on this monster. By doing so, he could tap into a money-making machine which would assure him of both wealth and continued success.

He nodded at each of them with business-like protocol, portraying a somewhat demure aspect, quite diametrically opposed to his usual arrogant and egoistical nature.

After initial introductions and pleasantries, their conversation quickly proceeded to the pertinent issue at hand. One of the two elderly men trained a watchful and penetrating eye his way.

‘In spite of your rather lurid documentation, heralding your accomplishments in this field, we have heard of some troubles with Nb83.’

Raihn began with an apocryphal smile, ‘There have been some issues with a relatively low percentile of negative reactions - possibly as high as a five percentage death-rate.’ His matter-of-fact delivery was accepted by each of them without the slightest flinch or blink of an eye.

He continued, ‘The nPill has only been tested on laboratory primates. But, considering that it is composited of the identical nanoid-injectus already successfully used on hundreds of thousands of people, it should nonetheless have the same results.’

The woman leaned toward him with a cutting stare and an inquisitive demeanour. ‘You are assuming that ingesting a pill will have the same efficacy as injecting the bots directly into a person’s blood – is that not presumptuous?’

Raihn smiled, intentionally letting them take the high road in this negotiation, conceding to a few blows which would show them that he was not afraid to admit to some faults. ‘Yes, it is presumptuous – but as you know, any scientific advance requires both presumption and daring courage. In the matter of Nb83, I have put my best foot forward. I am first and foremost a business man, not a scientist. Had I listened to my scientific team, we would not now be having this conversation and the efficacy of Nb83 would not have been tested. In view of the fact that over half a million people have already been injected, with minimal downside, I believe those figures can be taken to the bank and that the nPill will deliver.’

The conversation ensued for another hour, with many questions posed and answered. Finally, the three looked at one another and then back to him. ‘We will send you our proposed offer,’ at which they stood, shook hands with him and summarily left.

Raihn sat back down with a sense of triumphant victory on his face.

 

 

 

 

Janene struggled for each breath.

Her dark, dank prison clearly had no form of ventilation – limiting the availability of air to her lungs and brain.

It was like walking a tightrope over some dark and frightening abyss. As panic consumed her and the threat of hyperventilation pressed in, it seemed that either could send her tumbling downward.

In the back of her throat was a repulsive, tangibly acrid taste, that of rusted metal which suffused the musty air inside. She knew she was sitting in a container. The one dull light which illuminated her corner, confirmed it was so.

After hours in the same position, her body screamed out in pain – pain which she had never experienced before.

She arched her back against the chair, staring up at her hands which were tied together and looped over a large metal hook. Any attempt to stand was futile. Her legs were bound together at the ankles and she feared that if she lost her balance that she would simply be left dangling by her arms.

The more she struggled to breathe, the more the panic set in.

It was then that Mother Nature came to her rescue, reminding her with repeated pangs in her abdomen, that she had to relieve herself.

She yelled as loudly as she could, until her own voice was ringing off the metal walls of her prison. With a sudden mix of dread and relief, she heard the creaking sound of metal against metal as the heavy doors were unlatched.

As they swung open, the cool night air flooded in. Like a fresh rain falling over a parched desert, the infusion of oxygen gave her a sudden boost of life. She gasped almost reflexively as her lungs imbibed it.

Two men stepped inside. Their large muscular forms were silhouetted against the dim light of the moon. By their very body language, she could see that they were dangerous men. As they swaggered in with typical military-style regimentation, their struts betrayed them – mercenaries, she thought.