Last Days (Last Days Trilogy #1) Read online

  “Dad.”

  “I’m settling. All right.” Kyle sipped his coffee. “This is really bad coffee.” After one more sip, he set the cup on the coffee table. “I can’t take him today. I have a new guy starting. Your age. Nice guy. Not married. Never been...”

  “Bye.” Reggie opened the door.

  “Reg. Seth’s getting older. He needs a man around here.”

  “He has you.” Reggie paused in the doorway. “Dad? Turn on the television this morning. Watch Marcus.”

  “Reg. I like the guy and all but...”

  “Marcus needs our support. Now more than ever.”

  “All right. Will you stop by the shop and meet the new guy, Herbie?”

  “Herbie?” Reggie rolled her eyes. “Oh, my God. Goodbye.”

  Kyle shrugged when he heard the door shut. He reached for his coffee, cringing all the while, not only at the prospect of drinking it, but at the thought of watching Marcus deliver news the world would rather not hear.

  Westing Biogenetic Institute - London, England

  “Is that really what you’re wearing today?” Dr. Conrad Bennet, head of Westing followed Marcus around the main lab.

  “What’s wrong with it?” Marcus stopped, and ran a hand down the burgundy print tie he wore.

  “This isn’t just the Discovery Channel, Marcus. You know that, right? Half an hour after the broadcast, every news show in the world will have that story. And your life will have changed forever.”

  Marcus nodded, exhaled and continued to gather his things. “This pleases you?”

  “Yes. Yes, it does. Not often does our institute shine. Thanks to you, we are going to shine today.”

  “I’ll remember those words when I’m burning in hell.”

  Dr. Bennet chuckled. “You don’t believe that.”

  “No. I don’t.” Marcus closed his briefcase and looked at Dr. Bennet. “I think I have everything. I want to go to the prep lab just to double check before we....” Marcus snapped his fingers. “Almost forgot. Be right back.” He jogged into his office and returned with a small slip of paper. “I wrote a note to leave on your desk, but I forgot to leave it so here this is for you to handle. We had a slight problem.”

  Dr. Bennet reached for the paper with a baffled expression. “Why not just tell me?”

  “You may want to know this,” Marcus said with a grin.

  “Oh my goodness.” Dr. Bennet said. “Directly?”

  “Excuse me?” Marcus asked.

  “He called you directly?”

  “Yes.” Marcus said, mildly annoyed. “And I was busy. I barely understood him. He speaks... fragile.”

  “The Pope calls you and all you can say is… ‘he speaks fragile’?”

  “Yes.”

  Dr. Bennet shook his head. “So what is the problem you mentioned?” He waved the note.

  Marcus stopped pacing and faced Dr. Bennet. “He got held up at the switchboard. They wouldn’t put him through. You need to speak to the woman down there about the way she directs these calls. He got Leslie in Botany.”

  “That’s the problem? Nothing about today?”

  “That was the problem, yes.”

  “Why did he call, Marcus?” Dr. Bennet spoke agitated.

  “Same ole. Same ole. He was making a personal plea.”

  “Tell me.” Dr. Bennet’s voice softened. “Tell me you were respectful.”

  “Please.” Marcus rolled his eyes. “Of course I was respectful. He appealed to my deep religious upbringing. For a minute I thought he was going to threaten to call my mother.”

  Dr. Bennet laughed.

  “I’m not joking.” Marcus picked up his briefcase. “And I really must go, I have a car waiting downstairs. Stop at the lab with me?”

  “Sure.” Dr. Bennet shrugged and dropped the note on the lab table. Apparently, a phone call from the Pontiff meant about as much to Marcus as one from a telemarketer.

  Dr. Bennet followed Marcus to the preparatory lab, then down a long corridor, through a security door and into the lab itself. Marcus showed his identification to one of the two guards.

  The lab was big, its equipment lining all four walls, leaving the center of the room clear for the experiment. Only one worker had arrived – Rose, a fortyish woman who acted twenty and looked fifty. But no one ever told her that.

  “Morning, Rose.” Marcus stepped further inside.

  “Dr. Leon, Dr. Bennet.” she said, her British accent rising to the top. “I’ve just finished.”

  “That’s what I wanted to hear,” Marcus said. “The crew is set to arrive within the hour. You’ll handle them until I return, right?”

  “Yes, sir. You’re going there now?”

  Marcus nodded. “Apprehensively and nervously.”

  “Good luck,” she said. “I’m sure you’re ready for it.”

  “Oh, I am.” Marcus scanned the room and its contents before leaving. Just a single glance to make sure it was all real; that it was really happening. The subject and object of his work lay in the center of the lab. To the rest of the world, there was a sense of eeriness to it. Mystery. But that didn’t mean anything to Marcus. When he viewed it, he didn’t see the awesomeness or mystery of it. He saw his life’s pursuit, right there… within his grasp.

  Seville, Ohio

  Reggie always snickered when she thought of the children’s song, ‘On Top of Spaghetti, All Covered with Cheese,’ because she always sang, “On top of the pancakes, all covered with grease.” Just another way to break the monotony of her daily life, and to remember the fun of childhood.

  The thought arrived as she delivered a breakfast plate and watched a sausage link roll onto Buzz’s lap. She fondly referred to Buzz as ‘the biker patron from hell’.

  “Thanks,” Buzz snapped, his long hair dangling in his face.

  “You’re welcome,” said Reggie, trying to make her escape.

  Buzz picked up the sausage. “Can I have another?”

  “No.” Reggie moved to the next table.

  “What about this one?”

  “Eat it.” She pasted on a smile and looked down to the businessman seated before her. “Have you decided?”

  “Yes. I’ll have...”

  “Wait.” Reggie looked at her watch. “Do you have the correct time?”

  “Yes,” he said, checking. “It’s nine o’clock. I’ll have the...”

  “That’s what I thought.” Reggie tucked her notepad in her apron and walked away.

  The man tossed up his hands. “Miss? Miss?”

  Buzz leaned his big body toward the man’s table. “If I were you, I’d find another section to sit in. Unless you want to be here until noon.” He looked up at Reggie, still within earshot, who responded with cross look as she glanced over her shoulder to him.

  Ignoring everyone, she slid a stool close to the television, climbed up and changed the channel. She turned up the volume before climbing down.

  “Regina,” a stern voice called. It was Charley, the owner of the diner. “We have a remote for that.”

  “I can never find it.”

  “You have...”

  “Not now.” Reggie pointed up. “Marcus.”

  “I’ll be damned.” Charley shook his head. “What’s he doing on television?”

  “This is the yearly science conference. He making a huge announcement on some project at his institute.” Reggie smiled like a proud mother. “Marcus came up with it, you know. It’s his baby.”

  “No shit?” Charley smiled back. He knew Marcus, too, had known him since he was a boy. In a small town like Seville, seeing someone you know on television took precedence over a few irate customers. “You know, everyone should see this.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good...” Reggie grimaced at Charley’s high-pitched whistle.

  “Listen up!” Charley shouted. “Check it out.” He pointed to the television. “Our Marcus Leon is on the TV. A science show.”

  A hush enveloped the diner, drowning out B
uzz’s moaning.

  Reggie fixed her eyes on the screen, where Marcus was reading off a stack of index cards. He looked uptight, almost choking in that tie. He began to verge on boring as he gave a monotone account of a hybrid tomato plant. But Reggie knew that everything was about to change.

  “Dr. Marie Halcomb, our chief Botanist, will discuss that later in detail,” Marcus took a deliberate pause, set down his index cards and looked straight ahead. “But that is not why I’m here. I’m here today to make an announcement on behalf of Westing Biogenetic Institute.” Marcus stopped to clear his throat. “I’ll be plain, simple, and blunt. There’s no other way. Westing Biogenetic Institute is about to embark on what will be the most controversial scientific endeavor of our time. Today, here in London, we will extract DNA from the Shroud of Turin. Not in the hopes of finding out answers that others have already sought and claimed to have found, but to acquire the gene sequences needed to clone the person who left the impression upon the cloth. Alleged to be... Jesus of Nazareth.”

  The Vatican

  Cardinal Vincent Anomidi stood two feet from the television set, one arm draped across his waist, as his thumb and forefinger moved about his chin. He watched as Dr. Marcus Leon evaded a tidal wave of media questions.

  The conference ended. Cardinal Anomidi turned to Archbishop Donald Sumpter who sat behind a modest desk.

  “Well,” said Sumpter, leaning back in his chair.

  Cardinal Anomidi cleared his throat, “Well. That’s that.” He slid the chair across from the Archbishop, “The inevitable has occurred. I assume you have prepared a statement?”

  Archbishop Sumpter shuffled through some papers, “I’ve worked on a few. I favor this one. Tell me what you think, Vincent.” He lifted the paper and read, “The Holy Father is deeply saddened by the recent announcement by Dr. Marcus Leon regarding The Shroud of Turin. The Catholic Church was forced through the judicial system to temporarily turn over The Shroud, without the least knowledge of Westing’s intentions. The Holy Father has and will continue to urge Westing to reconsider its current plans. And hopefully, with God’s intervention, this atrocity of nature will be avoided.” He set down the statement, “What do you think?”

  Cardinal Anomidi nodded. “I like that. Conveys a lot.”

  “In light of everything the church is now facing: molestations, improper behavior, misappropriation of funds. This... This is larger than all of that combined.”

  Cardinal Anomidi agreed. “Yes it is. But... it’s no longer our controversy.” He smiled beautifully. “Job well done, Archbishop.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  London, England

  Marcus raised his head to scratch the bridge of his nose, and saw Dr. Bennet’s look of concern. Bennet was on the phone in the back of the moving limousine.

  “I see,” he said. “As many as needed. Cost is no option. Thank you.”

  Marcus waited until Dr. Bennet set the phone down. “Problem?”

  “Yes. At the institute. A few protestors.”

  Marcus raised an eyebrow. “Already? I was only on television an hour and a half ago.”

  “The BBC showed the announcement about forty minutes ago.”

  “It can’t be all that bad.”

  Dr. Bennet shrugged. “It could get worse. A lot worse.”

  “I’m not calling it off.”

  Dr. Bennet smiled. “That’s what I like to hear.” The limo slowed down. “Driver, why are we stopping?”

  The driver looked over his shoulder. “I have to, sir. The protestors….”

  “Protestors? What?” Dr. Bennet peered out the window. “We’re still a block from the institute. How can that be?” A loud smack against the window startled Dr. Bennet back toward Marcus. “Scratch that question.”

  “Can we get to the doors?” Marcus asked, as angry hands slapped against the car.

  “Security is supposed to be waiting,” Dr. Bennet replied.

  “They’re violent.” Marcus felt the vehicle rock. “I thought you said a few protestors.”

  “A few hundred.”

  “It’s a scientific experiment, for crying out loud,” Marcus said. “Don’t you think they’re overreacting?”

  The driver looked back as he stopped the car. “Get ready, sirs. The escorts are here to help you in.”

  Marcus grabbed hold of his briefcase and scooted to the door. The moment it opened, hands reached in, accompanied by thunderous shouts. “This is insane.” Marcus muttered. Six guards readied to help them through the crowd attempting to deflect the protestors with their large bodies.

  Marcus stepped from the limo with Dr. Bennet directly behind. Everything blurred as the guards tugged him along faster than he could walk. Faces jumped forward from the crowd. Cries and curses, words like “Heathen” and “Blasphemer” rang in his ears.

  Marcus moved with the guard toward the institute’s main entrance. As he passed the security barricade, he glanced over his left shoulder and saw an arm reach out from the crowd, as if in slow motion. Marcus unconsciously stopped at the base of the stairs leading into the building, and stood motionless, paralyzed with fear. Less than seven feet away, a handgun was pointed directly at him.

  The bearded gunman holding the gun had leapt past the two guards blocking his way, separating them. “You want to meet our Lord,” he growled at Marcus. “Meet him the right way.”

  The man pulled the trigger just as he was jolted by the crowd, his body spun to the left, his arm lifted at an angle as the gun went off.

  Blood splattered out hard and violently as the bullet hit Dr. Bennet squarely in his left cheekbone, killing him instantly.

  Panicked, deafening screams rang out from the crowd. Marcus’ vision blurred from the warm blood that covered the right side of his face. It was all happening so fast, like a dream. He wasn’t even aware he was still being escorting until he heard the doors shut behind him and lock. That was when he realized that he was safely inside the institute.

  “Dr. Leon, this way.” A man tugged him.

  Marcus shivered out a breath and raised his hand in objection to the man pulling on him. He wouldn’t budge. He had to take a moment, absorb what happened. It was insanity and Marcus was in shock. Setting down his briefcase, he swept his forearm over his face, pulling it back red and damp.

  Marcus moved his lips trying to speak as he took a step toward the front doors. The reality of his simple two sentence announcement had sunk in. He expected outrage, even uproars, but not this. The crowd’s muffled cries seeped through the institute’s secure doors. He watched the chaos through the tiny, double-thick glass. People flung themselves at the doors, trying to get in, the blood smeared glass squeaking as they slid against it.

  Staring out, Marcus blinked slowly and spoke in a daze. “My God, what have I done?”

  Seville, Ohio

  As soon as she walked into her father’s shop, Reggie was greeted with plumber pants syndrome, a condition caused when the bare backside creeps up past the waistband. She felt guilty about her preconceived notions of Herbie. She felt worse when her father was kind enough to call at work to tell her he’d watched Marcus on television. Then he called again to ask her to stop by the garage to meet the “great new guy.” Of course, after the second call to the diner, Charley scolded her to get a cell phone like every other man, woman, teenager and child in America.

  Inside the shop, Reggie didn’t recognize the rear end squatting before the Andersen car. Nor the extremely wide body that went along with it. The man sanded the car’s front end, seemingly in his own world.

  “Reg!” Kyle called out.

  Reggie turned to see her father wiping off his hands, smiling, headed her way. “Hey, uh, Dad.”

  Kyle raised his eyebrows a few times, twitching his head toward the squatting man, grinning all the while. He tapped the new guy on the shoulder. “Hey, Herbie, Reg is here.”

  Reggie closed her eyes, determined to be cordial. After all, she thought, looks aren’t everything.
r />   Herbie shut off the sander and tugged at his pants as he turned from the car. His hair, a dirty and straggly brown, stuck to his face. He wiped off his hand before extending it to Reggie. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise.” Reggie smiled pleasantly.

  “Your dad says we have a date on Friday night.”

  Reggie’s eye widened. “Dad?”

  “Dinner and a movie.” Kyle waved his hand. “Not a date, Herbie. What did I tell you? Two new friends going out. Two lonely friends going out.”

  “I can pick you up.” Herbie nodded. “If you give me your number.”

  “I don’t like talking on the phone,” Reggie replied.

  “I can text you.”

  Kyle groaned. “Reg doesn’t have a cell phone.”

  “Why not?” Herbie asked. “You afraid you’ll get brain cancer.”

  “She’s afraid of the cost,” Kyle stated.

  “Dad.”

  “Oh,” Herbie tossed out his hand in a wave. “Bargain Mart has flip phones for nine, ninety-nine. I should get you one.”

  Kyle gave a swat to Herbie’s arm. “That is so generous. Isn’t he generous, Reg.?”

  “I suppose.” Reggie replied.

  “And...” Herbie nodded. “I just finished the body work on my 1979 Lincoln Continental. Looks good. It’s big.”

  “I see.” Reggie nodded slowly. “Herbie, this is awful short notice. It’s Wednesday, I think I might have to work...”

  “Nope,” Kyle interrupted. “Checked with Charley.”

  Reggie continued. “Then I have to find a sitter for my...”

  “I’ll watch Seth. Hazel and I have no plans.”

  “Who?” Reggie looked at her father.

  “Marybeth. I call her Hazel now. She cleans my house.” Kyle nodded. “Anyway. It’s all set. Get back to work, Herbie.”

  “Yes, sir.” Herbie nodded, bent down to the car like a drone, and picked up his sander.

  “Dad,” Reggie grabbed his arm and pulled him away from Herbie. “What are you doing?”