Chapter Five – Corporate Espionage
Corporate Espionage
Chapter 5
Epsilon knew his mission and was confident he would see its successful conclusion. Through his wrist control he lowered his night-vision lenses back over his eyes and surveyed his surroundings. The hallways were outlined in a faint green sheen and he could see a soft red glow of footprints as they faded farther on down the hall and turned the corner to the right. He must hurry or he would lose his prey.
He sub-vocalized his commands to the rest of his crew through a fiber microphone shunted into his vocal cords. With another tap on his wrist his left lens displayed the locations of his partners on this floor; they were spaced out evenly at the intersecting hallways on this level and were closing the vice. He had other partners guarding the staircases and other exits. Things were going good.
Which he knew is when you should worry.
Epsilon shuffled sideways down the hall, a stinger in his left hand, his trusty, yet silenced, 9 millimeter pistol in the right. The stinger was an amazingly satisfying little wand to use in clearing hallways quickly. It could shoot a microwave beam up to 20 yards and any poor bastard in its way would suffer the stinging heat until they could escape the beam. It could also penetrate any walls within its conical range.
As he approached the corner he checked his mission time. They were still in the green, three minutes within the buffer time before extraction. They had estimated a twelve minute goal with fifteen minutes as their maximum before the mission would become an aborted failure. Since penetrating the basement level, cutting the power and making their way up to the targeted third floor they had used nine minutes. It was a three minute window they allowed themselves to claim their target and begin extraction. Around this corner should be the office room they needed. And more than likely it would be heavily guarded.
His men all called in that they were in position. He could actually see a couple of them from his vantage point at the intersection. Epsilon could have just pointed his stinger around the corner and let rip the heat, whoever was in the office would come running out for them to pick off one by one, but it also left them an opportunity to damage the chipset that they were after. And he hadn’t been briefed on whether the microwaves could actually harm the delicate hardware.
He motioned for Brouhar and Gavin to begin their shuffle down the last hallway. The element of surprise was their only option. He knew his other men were following the movement on the lens displays so that when they opened fire through the thin walls they would not hit their own with crossfire. Epsilon peaked around the corner as his two advance men passed him and continued quietly down the carpeted hallway to the door at the end. He glimpsed the fading footprints and his heart jumped a beat. The red prints on the carpets stopped midway down the hall and the last smudge was only half of a print as though the wall itself had cut it off. A trap!
As he yelled out the warning the partition walls dropped in various spots along the hallways and armed guards stepped out shooting wildly. A horizontal rain of bullets shredded Brouhar and Gavin before they could even fire a shot. Ducking back around the corner, he could hear bullets zinging past his head and his remaining men were valiantly attempting to keep the other guards busy in the outer hallways. It was he alone that had to get down the hallway and through the door.
It was a wild chance to take, but Epsilon was a gambler at heart. With a quick pull on a ripcord by his throat, his black fleece jumpsuit crumpled to the floor exposing a foil type jogging suit underneath. He ordered all of his men to strip down to foil as quick as they could. Epsilon ripped off his headgear and pulled up the foil hood, cinching it tight. He took a deep breath and charged around the corner. He attempted to keep low, firing wildly at kneecaps and thighs, resolving not to stop even as he impacted and shouldered-charged his way through the guards blocking the hall.
He felt only a sting as his right calf was shot clean through. A bullet nearly knocked him off his feet as it punched into his left shoulder, but it also added to his thrust down the hall. He kept his momentum and jumped feet first into the door. It crashed open and he pulled himself into a ball as he hit, somersaulting into the room and triggering the stinger simultaneously. Out of the corner of his eye he could see two guards in the room and, as he had hoped, they were coming towards him with their backs to the doorway from which he had rolled.
He pointed the stinger in their direction and propped it at an angle with his pistol. The beam sent its silent wave of pain at the two guards and through them into the hallway. The guards in the room could easily sidestep the beam being as close to the cone as they were, but Epsilon was waiting for them. Barehanded and wounded he was still a lethal weapon. With a step to the right he chopped one guard in the throat with his right hand and his left hand swung down at the other guard’s hand, disarming him of his pistol. While the first guard grabbed his throat, the second one could only give a shocked look at Epsilon as he grabbed his chin and the back of his head and twisted violently, snapping his neck with a disturbing crunch.
Epsilon never stopped moving; before the second guard had even hit the floor he was already hopping over the stinger and grabbing for the small glass case on the lone desk in the office. He had lost all communications with his men when he threw off the headset but trusted that the gunshots he was hearing were them cleaning house as the unshielded guards attempted to evade the stinger’s painful beam. He gave a loud whistle for an all-clear that he was sure his men would understand and went over to the window behind the desk. With a loud crash, the desk chair went flying out the window to land three stories below.
From his belt, Epsilon retrieved a small beacon device, pointed it outside the window and activated it. He checked his wrist control display; eleven minutes and forty-four seconds into the mission. Not bad.
Only three of his men remained from the original eight. They were all gathered at the window as a black tether came dangling down from a mysteriously quiet helicopter high above. They ran the tether through their waist clips like a string of mountain climbers and Epsilon stepped first outside the window to the ledge and gave a sharp tug. The tether grew taut and began lifting him up as the rest of his crew stepped out in order to the ledge just in time to be pulled skyward. Four triumphant men whose lives depended on a piece of rope dangling below a helicopter were lifted away into the night. Fourteen minutes, mission accomplished.
Minutes later the helicopter lowered them onto a rooftop not very far from their extraction site. The rooftop was surrounded in floodlights that illuminated a large cheering crowd of people gathered around the landing area. The men unclipped the tether and the helicopter quietly drifted off.
Epsilon acknowledged the applause by showing off the glass case holding the chipset and with a sweep of his arm included his teammates in the victory. An older man wearing an expensive gray suit and a toothy smile came up and clapped him on the shoulder, bringing a wince of pain from Epsilon.
“Well done, son. Let’s get you doctored up and then we’ll have a real party.”
A few doctors came jogging out from the crowd and started examining the men as gurneys were rolled out to carry them away.
Epsilon, Cavanaugh, Bombeck and Steers floated quietly in the saline healing baths. They had all received serious wounds but the doctors had given them protein/carb injections and released them to the healing waters to speed their healing process. One of the more remarkable effects of their immortal metabolisms was the rejection of foreign bodies. As they healed, the bullets and shrapnel that had remained in their bodies was slowly pushed out during the healing period, so that every few minutes a minor clanking might be heard as the souvenirs of their previous violence settled to the bottom of the aluminum tank.
“Man,” Cavanaugh drawled, “Did you see how they just jellied Brouhar and Gavin? Freaking hollow point automatics are a bad way to go.”
Epsilon nodded in silent agreement. He hadn’t spoken in almost an hour as he replayed the mission repeatedly in his mind. It had been a sloppy mission. Not that he and his men operated in a sloppy fashion but more that the mission itself seemed to have been a haphazard idea born in haste. Or was this the predetermined outcome? Had it been setup so that only a few would remain of his faithful group? The rules were the rules and they had to follow them.
As though reading his thoughts, –which was part of his job in the real world, Bombeck spoke up, “There’s only four of us now to try and reach the next level. Tell you what though, boss, I don’t see where we could have done anything any different.”
The other two grunted in agreement. They could not see any other outcome for the mission. It had been an ambush pure and simple; it’s only intent to thin the herd, remove the weakest links.
They had about fifteen minutes left of soak time until they needed to get dressed for the evening’s festivities. The scorecards had been delivered to them moments ago. They would be guests of honor tonight since they had succeeded in the least amount of time out of the three victorious groups competing for the mission. Nine other groups had failed completely and their play time was over. They would be packed and sent home before the party even began.
The Fellowship Islands Retreat & Enclave had been born from the early ideas of business retreats for corporate partners to holiday at and bond together, learn to trust each other, beat on drums and then finalize it all with a walk over hot coals. But with the incentive of corporations making more money than ever in the research and development areas sponsored by governments and civilians the world over, and immortality loosening many people’s inhibitions about living a safe and secure existence, there seemed to be a need for a more exhilarating retreat that could build strong foundations for work but also allow for a person to release some of their new, wilder tendencies.
For an exorbitant amount of money, business types could bring a small army of people along to join in competitive role-playing games that invoked leadership, teamwork and camaraderie through lethal scenarios. Mostly they were all spy-type missions using the latest technologies and weapons. It seemed that most successful businessmen and women had at some point dreamed of being an international spy or jewel thief. The Fellowship Islands were an actual chain of islands in the South Pacific Ocean, and only one island held the spy games. Other islands were known to pursue matters either private to the owners or somewhat more personal to the guests; guests with even more money. The Fellowship acronym was FIRE, and their famous tagline was ‘Now You’re Playing with FIRE’. FIRE could stoke anyone’s imagination if they only had the money.
Epsilon was decked out in a light blue suit of light tropical wool tailored to perfection. He poured himself a half glass of cognac while waiting for his surviving partners to finish dressing. Their room was actually bigger than most modest houses and they each had their own separate bedroom with respective private bathrooms. The living area that contained the bar from which Epsilon was lounging was around two thousand square feet leaving ample room for entertaining when the need arose.
Bombeck was the first to join him, pouring a slightly smaller amount of the liquor into a rock crystal glass. Bombeck commented on the extra space they had available to them since their recently disposed partners were no longer around. They could have been still healing or sent away already depending on the condition of their wounds. Even their luggage had already been removed from the room. Steers and Cavanaugh left their bedrooms at nearly the same time so could not share in as much of the cognac before it was time to depart.
A private 35 foot long sport yacht was waiting to take them to another island for their celebration. It was a warm evening as most evenings on the islands were, and they had only a mild wind blowing at them as the captain drew them slowly away from the dock and out into the dark ocean. A clear sky above them boasted bright starlight and whispers of the foggy clouds of the Milky Way. They arrived at their destination within ten minutes, gliding up to a softly lit dock, nodded farewells to the captain and began their walk up to the collection of extravagantly large bamboo structures illuminated by torchlight.
They could hear the soft thunder of many voices in conversation as they neared the buildings. The bamboo houses were built in a large circle as though parked around a huge campsite, which is exactly what it reminded them of as they entered the central area. In the center was a huge fire and hundreds of guests were milling around chatting and laughing. Off to one side, near the porch area of the largest home was a small orchestra on a planked stand that were quietly getting their instruments ready, and opposite them across the bonfire was a straw Tiki-type bar large enough to accommodate four bartenders.
As a group, the four men sauntered over to the bar and ordered drinks. They had just turned around to survey the crowd when a voice raised above all the others, garnering everyone’s attention. “Hello? Hello everyone. I see that our guests of honor have arrived. Shall we all raise a toast to the victorious crew of The Epsilon Trustees?” The crowd as one raised glasses and mugs and cheered Epsilon and his men. Epsilon lifted his drink to Ken Smithey, the host and co-owner of FIRE, the very same man who had congratulated Epsilon on the landing pad earlier that evening.
Many people gathered around Bombeck, Steers and Cavanaugh to applaud them their victory. Everyone always left the mysterious Epsilon alone. He was an aloof billionaire of renowned success and a fierce competitor which kept questions and conversations to a minimum with the crowd on this island. Many of them were his competition in the real world and couldn’t shake a lot of their preconceptions even in this fantasy land.
Ken Smithey knew the feeling well but he was more charismatic and approachable. His business was more in sales than the manufacturing that Epsilon’s business endeavors leaned towards. Ken Smithey always had a warm greeting for everyone, for they were making him even richer just by being there. He slowly meandered his way over to Epsilon at the bar.
“Dendo, another margarita,” he said as he slid up beside Epsilon. He turned himself towards Epsilon with a smile. “I have such a weakness for those things.”
“You don’t have any weaknesses, Ken,” said Epsilon, without missing a beat.
Ken chuckled lightly. “Ask my three ex-wives, I have many weaknesses, and many faults, my friend.” He grabbed his fresh drink from the bar and turned around to view the crowd as Epsilon continued to do. “Did you bring the chipset you stole?”
“Of course I did.” It was Epsilon’s turn for a small laugh. “You didn’t make that case easy to open did you? The small guillotine trap almost took my finger.” He held up his left hand. “Did get my fingernail though.”
Ken laughed loudly, drawing enough attention to make Epsilon uncomfortable.
“The chipset was only a small reward. Greater treats await you if you have the balls.” Ken watched him impishly from the corner of his eye.
Epsilon took the bait. “Alright, what new things have you cooked up? I’m not exactly a man without resources. I’ve heard things.”
“Oh ho, Epsilon. What you have heard is most likely speculation. The reality of what awaits you is something different altogether.”
The orchestra across the way began playing a subtle melody and some people began pairing off into dance partners. Bombeck was refusing the offers of a gorgeous brunette to join her on the other side of the fire, but Steers was already on his way over, holding hands with a slim blonde wearing a bikini top and grass skirt. Cavanaugh was telling the story of their mission earlier that day to a small group of admirers and already on his third drink since arriving.
“So, the stinger seemed to work as expected,” stated Ken, changing gears. “I would like a few of those wicked little wands when you get them out of the prototype stage.”
“You should be able to buy them online next week,” chuckled Epsilon. He and Ken shared a longstanding joke where it appeared as though they wouldn’t lift a finger to help the other when the truth was that they were silent partners in almost every business endeavor imaginable. Ken and Epsilon had been friends for almost ten years. When K’Chul Kan made everyone immortal a year ago Ken was the first person that Epsilon called. Ken could still remember those fateful words. “We’re gods now. We have the money and we have the time. The world and beyond is ours.”
Since then, the two had laid out complex strategies that incorporated government and civilian cash in extremely large quantities. Ken already had a great reputation in the public sector with some very successful amusement parks and high profile marketing campaigns for disadvantaged children. Epsilon had succeeded nicely as a major player in the government contractor arena, presiding over some rather large defense contracts that garnered him respect in the right places. He was able to build that reputation into a formidable collection of buddies with enough clout to throw extremely large amounts of cash in his direction.
They both had used their large incomes and investments to create a corporation developing the latest in armament and weaponry for the government and also enhance their multi-island fantasy for corporate getaways or the extremely rich and eccentric. They also realized that owning an island group outside of their local law jurisdictions allowed them the freedom to do many things they just couldn’t do at home. The stinger was a fine example of being able to test an advanced prototype model that had not been fully approved yet.
Ken brought Epsilon back to the present. “So, are you curious about the next leg of your adventure? In the past those little silicon wafers you took would have been your trophy but you are about to find out that they are really just the key to let you into the real adventure.”
“Well, you have a way of tickling my curiosity.” Epsilon said as he turned and set his empty glass on the bar. “Another,” he motioned to the bartender. “So, when does this adventure start?”
“Soon.”
Epsilon took a drink from his refilled glass and put both elbows on the bar, leaning slightly. “Are you going to tell me why you wanted to slaughter most of my men before this next adventure, Ken?” He couldn’t see Ken’s smile as he was still watching the crowd with his back to the bar.
“I just wanted all of you to remember what a bullet felt like.”
Epsilon turned with a curious smile. “What the hell does that mean?”
“After tonight, you and your men will wish that bullets were your only worries. Now you guys are going to have to get down and dirty.”
“Really? This could be fun.”
Ken couldn’t hide his excitement. “Listen. This is going to be even more revolutionary than the spy games. You know the testing we’ve been doing with grafts and implants? Our little doctors have made some great strides in their research and, so of course, we had to try it out as soon as possible.” Ken started to say something else but it was lost in bright light as Epsilon found himself blinking around, laying on his back, his ears ringing. The huge fire in the center of the celebration had exploded.
He was still trying to regain his balance enough to try and stand when a hand roughly shoved him back to the ground. A figure in cameo from the firelight was hunched over him, searching through his suit jacket, grabbed something and ran off towards the fire. The chipset, Epsilon thought. He stole the chipset!
Epsilon rolled himself into a shaky stand and viewed the carnage around him. The ringing in his ears was subsiding enough that he could start to make out the sounds of suffering around him. The blast had been huge. There were body parts around the center of the blast and bodies were lying at random; nearly every celebrant had been affected by the concussive explosion.
The torches surrounding the area were the only available light as the explosion had effectively put the fire out except for clumps of hot coals and smoldering lumber scattered throughout the area. Epsilon could not see Ken’s body anywhere. He could see movement on the other side where the orchestra had sat, their stage, instruments and bodies leaving an ugly expanding pattern from the blast’s origin. He yelled for Steers, Bombeck and Cavanaugh as he started moving his away across the sandy ground towards the source of movement.
Steers and Cavanaugh were both slightly wounded but able to move around and meet Epsilon as he stood over the mangled remains of Bombeck. With a new intensity, Epsilon bounded off past the debris and out of the circle of bamboo buildings, by instinct following where he thought the retreating figures had gone; Steers and Cavanaugh in close pursuit. As they approached the dock they had left only a short time earlier they could catch momentary glimpses of a boat as it was rowing away into the darkness over the pitch black swells. A storm was approaching.
“Over here.” Steers called to them. He had gone closer to the dock and could see that a man was tied to one of the posts. It was Ken, he was on his knees and bound to the post by a scratchy rope that was tightly wound around his neck and tied in back to capture his hands. He was bleeding from several wounds but they couldn’t tell if it was from his captors or the explosion. Epsilon started working at the knots speaking to Ken but not receiving any response.
Cavanaugh was waiting and caught Ken as he slumped forward once his binds were loose. He hefted him to a near-standing height and Ken weakly tried to gain his footing but yelped in pain from a fractured ankle and let Cavanaugh take his weight.
“Epsilon,” Ken said weakly. “They’ve taken the chipset key; it’s the only thing that will let us in.”
“Let us in what?” Epsilon asked gruffly. He hadn’t been enjoying this turn of events.
“It was part of the game, but the treasure was real. Your prize was the chipset that would let you, –let us, have entrance to the lab on Island 3.”
Epsilon’s eyes bulged. Island 3 was their laboratory for R&D that even the government had no idea about yet. They had never mentioned the name in front of anyone else before. Epsilon had never even had a chance to visit it since its inception over 10 months years ago.
Regardless of Ken’s injuries, Epsilon grabbed him roughly by his collar, jerking him forward, and spoke in slow angry words.
“What made you think to use the keys to Island 3 in a game, Kenneth?”
Ken smiled through his mangled lips. “I’d hoped to make it interesting.”
Epsilon shoved him back to Cavanaugh causing Ken to whimper as he favored the wrong ankle trying to regain his balance.
“The game is on, Epsilon. There they go. They’ve taken the chipset.”
Epsilon glared at him, speechless. Ken wiped the blood from his face.
“I have to admit,” he muttered quietly. “I gave them some latitude on how to start the adventure and they most certainly took the lead and ran with it.” Ken pointed off to the darkest side of the dock. “You have a boat waiting for you. The equipment you’ll need is inside.”
“Steers, check it out.”
“Ken, why would you do something so foolish as to let our employees have keys to the lab?”
Epsilon didn’t wait for an answer.
“Cavanaugh, break his other fucking ankle.”
