Gifted

Chapter Thirty-three

|Saturday|

Martinez

I feel powerful as I gaze down at the city below. I walk to the edge of the rooftop patio, grip the railing in my hands. The lights of the predawn city wink at me: sharp lights of neon cutting through the fog of early morning; gentle lights of suburban homes to the west; and to the northwest, the faint glow of the highway. This is Utah, Michigan, my home for the last twenty years. The home of my brain-child, PurePride, a thing of beauty. A dream made firm and real.

From this height, no one can see me, up on the roof of the forty-story condo complex. This is my private rooftop, as well as the three-story condominium beneath it. My oasis in this mad world. Today I feel infused with energy: it has been two weeks since we released the TRN Virus (Telemerase-Replication Neutralizer) into the atmosphere, and on Thursday, reports began coming in as the nanovirus activated at the designated time, once everyone on the planet had been infected.

Even me.

I retire to the top floor of my condominium, which I have redesigned as a laboratory. I head to the climate-controlled room where I keep the antivirus to TRN. I open the compartment and remove a new vial of the antivirus, which I created myself. No one else knows a cure exists, or that I use it.

The faintly purple liquid in the vial sparkles as it catches the light in the room. I connect the vial to a syringe and inject the substance into a vein, discarding the instrument when I am done. I must do this every day.

The antivirus will remove the TRN from my system, a gradual process that I estimate will take years to complete properly. A tiny mistake could potentially kill me. Until the nanovirus is completely gone, however, I am as vulnerable to injury and even death as the rest.  However, the antivirus also neutralizes the unpleasant effects of the TRN Virus, like the violent muscle contractions and severe nausea, so I am not in agony.  Knowingly infecting myself with the virus was a necessary risk, in my opinion. The others must be eliminated.

Then I will be the sole powered person in the world, and I will rule as a virtual god forever.

. . .

I rarely leave my fortified condominium, for security reasons, but today, I make an exception.  My bodyguards, who have their private quarters in the residence so they may be ready at a moment's notice, escort me into the elevator, where I use my key to access my personal garage, which occupies an entire level underneath the building.

The elevator deposits us at my garage and I climb into one of my armored limousines.  One of my bodyguards rides in the back with me, the other acting as the driver.  I don't trust chauffeurs.

We follow the passage until it opens out onto the main road outside the condo complex, passing through several security checkpoints along the way.  The wealthy residents who live in the complex can afford high security.  The armed guard in the last booth of bulletproof glass gives me a smile, and a knowing nod as he pockets the bills I pass him.  The law may be strict, but the law is easily bribed.  I am possibly the most wanted man in the world, but a handful of discretionary bills will glue the wheels of justice in their tracks.

We travel to a restaurant on the south side of town.  I have disguised my features for this outing, but it will not matter; the owners have been well-paid to keep very quiet.  No one will interfere with our meeting today.  I bought out the back room for the meeting, a spacious place draped in red silk tapestries and plush floor rugs.  A single large round table, seating twelve, sits in the center of the room.  It will seat only four today.

The first person to arrive is Dominic Alderman.  His dark, well-cut hair, tailored suit, and olive complexion would not be out of place as a mob boss in the Big Apple.  His hands are deep in the pockets of his Armani suit as he strolls into the room, his suit jacket straining against his prominent stomach.

"Hey, hey, Fat Tony!" I call as he enters the room.  He chuckles at the old joke and walks over to shake my hand.

"Hello, Jacobi," he says genially.  He seats himself at the table and we wait for our other guests.

The second person to arrive is Arnold Klaxon.  His tall lean frame is encased in a dark green suit, shades over his eyes that I have seen him remove but once.  His eyes are blue, not that you would know it.  Arnold is a man of few words but possessing a powerful personality.  He is the face of our organization, our movement, our goal.

I cannot be.  Being the Most Wanted Man in the World has its disadvantages.

The final person arrives.  Alexandria Solomon is a tall black woman, broad in the shoulders and possessing an intimidating air.  Standing an impressive six feet four inches tall, she fills her black suit respectably.  She is another face of our organization.  Her short black hair frames her face in a wavy cut, her light brown eyes finding mine for a moment and then she inclines her head respectfully.

"Well, I see that I am once again patently late," she says dryly.  Dominic chuckles again and she gives him a severe stare.  He silences himself smartly.

I wave her to a chair at the table.  "Welcome, Alexandria," I say.  She smiles thinly.  "Now that we are all assembled, I must begin with congratulations.  We have succeeded in launching the TRN Virus into the atmosphere--thanks to our connections in the Aerospace Industry, thank you, Dominic--which has now infected every person on Earth.  Unpowered people will not notice, as it has no effect on them, of course.  But we have begun receiving reports that powered people across the globe are losing their healing potential.  This is working exactly as planned."

"The fools will kill themselves, merely by using their abilities," Alexandria says with a delicate snort.

I indulge her with a smile.  Before I can speak again, Dominic says, "How are you not affected, Jacobi?  As a powered person yourself--"

He stops in mid-sentence as I hold up a vial of the antivirus.  I carry one on me, just in case.

"This," I say slowly, "is the cure to the TRN Virus.  I created it myself.  I alone know its chemical properties, its creation process.  It takes years to work, but...it was a risk I had to take."

The others stare at me with admiration and amusement.  Arnold says, "Why take that risk, Jacobi?  That could kill you, possibly."

I nod seriously, taking his concerns to note.  "The eradication of the powered menace is our cross to bear.  It is our life's goal.  The reason we exist.  To deflect suspicion, naturally, I must become infected myself.  This antivirus ensures my trials will not be long.  I will eventually regain the use of my regenerative powers, my immortality.  And then, nothing can stop me.  There will be no one left who can."

. . .

I stand at the railing of my rooftop that night, thinking about the possibilities that will soon be in my grasp.  As I stand there ruminating, a distant sounding of horns disrupts my thoughts.  Irritated, I look for the source of the distraction.

On a side street, three cars have become gridlocked at a narrow stop-sign intersection.  Apparently unfamiliar with the rules of driving, any of them, they sit there honking at each other impotently, no car moving forward.  Sighing, I raise a lazy hand.  Picturing the cars vanishing, I concentrate.

Far below--yet my eyes can see it--the air seems to shimmer.  It bends and shimmers, warping around the honking cars.  Suddenly the horns cease.  The cars, and their occupants, are gone.  I laugh and head inside, enjoying the silence.

END OF BOOK 1.