PHOENIX: Spooks Read online

  THE PHOENIX SAGA

  Book One:

  Spooks

  By Paul Howard

  Copyright 2013 by Paul D. Howard

  World Rights Reserved

  No portion of this publication may reproduced by any means, print, electronic or otherwise without the prior written consent of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons or situations, other than known historical figures is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  Chapter One: The Ten O’clock News

  Chapter Two: Peek A Boo

  Chapter Three: Just Like the Good Old Days

  Chapter Four: Resurrection

  Chapter Five: The Facts of Death

  Chapter Six: Bad News All Around

  Chapter Seven: Grabbing at Straws

  Chapter Eight: Setting the Trap

  Chapter Nine: Leviathans at Dawn

  Chapter Ten: Settling Accounts

  Chapter Eleven: Cat and Mouse

  Chapter Twelve: The Facts of Life

  Chapter Fourteen: Freezing Darkness

  Chapter Fifteen: Backfired

  Chapter Sixteen: The 88th Floor

  Chapter Seventeen: Free Fall

  Chapter Eighteen: Retribution

  Chapter Nineteen: Police Work

  Chapter Twenty: Phase 2

  Chapter Twenty-One: Phase 3

  Epilogue

  PROLOGUE

  The less said about the 21st Century the better.

  Suffice to say that it began with nearly seven billion human beings living on Earth and ended with less than a fifth of that number left. A planet whose surface was 70% covered with water had now claimed 70% of the usable land as well, forcing mass migrations and terrible loss of life. Monstrous storms and climactic disasters, long predicted by scientists and denounced by the populace, came to pass like a bad debt. When the Atlantic currents shut down the Ice Age they held in check swept over the Northern Hemisphere, bringing devastation and turning major population centers into uninhabitable wasteland.

  Yet the 22nd Century began with a measure of hope. In spite of the environmental austerity and displacement now imposed upon it, most of remaining humanity, through resourcefulness, discipline, and luck, was able to preserve a veneer of civilization and stability.

  In North America the population now clung to the relative safety of the southwest, where the climate was still manageable enough to allow the infrastructure requirements of one hundred million people. Los Angeles had now become the largest city of the Western Hemisphere, with a population of over seventy-seven million. What had once been the wide open spaces was now one of the most crowded places on Earth.

  But the veneer of society was very thin. With little resources and no surpluses to draw upon the population was increasingly on its own, with little social or educational services. By 2120 less than 25% were able to read or write, and the growing concern was that humanity was on the brink of a new dark age it could not afford. There were few hospitals, and the resources available were dedicated to feeding a world with almost no arable lands.

  Most of the American populace lived in crowded, rundown neighborhoods, with temporary housing that was nearly a century old. More sawdust than wood, they provided shelter to a population that was chronically under employed. Superstition replaced science, narcissism replaced knowledge. The progress and prosperity of centuries turned to dust and undeveloped minds. In the central city there was civilization, beyond the valleys it was another story. Palm Springs, once a millionaire’s playground, had become a no-man’s-land.

  Once taken for granted, or seen as a social liability, the elderly had now emerged as one the most important resources in society. The last generation to see the Old World, and remember what life on Earth was actually supposed to be like. They knew how things worked and why, could understand manuals, and even repair the codes that kept the power on and the machines turning. But their time was running out. The last people, who walked on the streets of Manhattan, saw a rhinoceros, and tasted food that wasn’t synthetic, had lived through their mortal lifespans.

  The Phoenix Corporation was now seen as the best hope of preserving what remained of the Old World, and as its lifeline for future generations. Every effort was now made to persuade senior citizens to extend their lives through ecto-infusion for the common good. The Phoenix pamphlets and commercials were ubiquitous throughout the culture. The following is the actual shooting script from a typical Phoenix video ad.

  *****

  PHOENIX CO. SPOT Prod # 273

  A.R SCOTT PROMOTIONS CO.

  Rittemhouse 232 BIT exer WWR #CCitr.

  FADE IN:

  EXTERIOR GARDEN DAY (VIDEO)

  It is a warm sunny day. Two ELDERLY WOMEN, the WIFE and her FRIEND, are talking. The WIFE is pruning the flowers as she speaks to her FRIEND. She is quiet and sullen. The FRIEND is sympathetic but calm.

  (Soft Music)

  FRIEND

  You have the prettiest garden!

  WIFE

  Yes, but it’s not easy for me to

  keep it up. It was Fred’s. He always

  had such a way with plants.

  FRIEND

  Don’t worry, you’ll manage.

  The Wife stops pruning and shakes her head.

  WIFE

  There’s so much to be done now

  that he’s gone. The house, all

  our legal affairs. We just weren’t

  ready.

  FRIEND

  I know, dear.

  WIFE

  If only we’d had more time. Just

  a little more time…

  The FRIEND touches her arm as she hangs her head. RACK FOCUS as the ANNOUNCER steps into the foreground. He is in a conservative suit and has fatherly, reassuring features.

  ANNOUNCER

  Could this happen to you or your

  family? Would a little more time

  make the difference for your Loved

  Ones? Now you can give your family

  the safety and security that more time

  would provide.

  The image changes to a GRAPHIC of the PHOENIX CORP. LOGO with the Internet Address at the bottom of the screen.

  (Music Ends)

  ANNOUNCER(O.C.)

  At Phoenix we have the answer

  you have been looking for! For less

  than the cost of an average funeral

  you can have years of valuable

  additional time to settle your affairs,

  complete unfinished business, or just

  enjoy the life you always

  dreamed of with that certain someone.

  The image changes to a laboratory with technicians at a row of very delicate machines.

  ANNOUNCER(O.C.)

  Quick, effective, and completely

  painless, our service can have

  you back with your family in

  less than ten days. Our patented

  Ecto-infusion process will restore

  you to complete physical form with a

  minimum period of remission.

  The image changes to an ELDERLY MAN playing beach ball with his grandchildren.

  ANNOUNCER(O.C.)

  In fact, most of our clients feel so

  natural that they say it’s hard to

  believe that they ever passed on.

  POV of going through a floor and floating above a neighborhood. (CGIFX)

  ANNOUNCER(O.C.)

  During your brief periods of remission

  you can enjoy the exhilaration of true

  ghostliness. Float in the air, pass

  through walls, or be invisible. Once

  you’ve had the fun of bei
ng a ghost

  you too will agree with so many other

  people who say: Life really begins

  once it’s ended.

  (Soft Music)

  The ANNOUNCER appears on the screen holding a PHOENIX BROCHURE. At the bottom the telephone number is seen. Below it, in smaller print is the caption:

  “MAJOR CREDIT CARDS ACCEPTED”

  ANNOUNCER

  So call the number on your screen

  and ask for this free Brochure right now!

  There’s no obligation, nothing to buy.

  Find out for yourself just how easy it is

  to become an Ecto-Being. You get the

  complete Ecto-conversion package:

  including transportation to the Phoenix

  Asteroid, conversion, and all luxurious

  accommodations for just one low price.

  DISSOLVE TO:

  EXTERIOR BEACH SUNSET

  A WOMAN is walking away from us along the beach alone.

  ANNOUNCER(O.C.)

  Don’t put it off. Call right now. After

  all, no one lives forever. But with

  Phoenix, you won’t have to go until

  you’re ready.

  A MAN appears beside the WOMAN on the beach. They stroll away, arm-in-arm as the soft music ends.

  FADE TO BLACK Scr: APPROVED 7/21/23 Phoenix C.U.S. per.BELL

  Chapter One: The Ten O’clock News

  On a night in late September the news broadcast began with a lead story about an impending execution. There was nothing new about it; the same info-tainment tabloid, the usual banal graphics, sensationalist copy, and models dressed like reporters informing a disinterested public that somebody else was going to die. The anchor came on and read her news with fake enthusiasm and unfocused interest.

  “At San Quentin Prison, the Death Chamber is being prepared for another execution as Governor Ryan denies an eleventh-hour appeal in the case of convicted serial killer, John Morrison.”

  File footage of Morrison in handcuffs and an orange prison jumper came on next. Another faceless person led by faceless uniforms in front of a bland courtroom wall.

  “Morrison, seen here during his trial, was convicted in the brutal murders of thirty-four men and boys two years ago. He is scheduled to die by Lethal Injection at five minutes after midnight. The Governor said that she had no regrets about her decision, sighting the gruesome nature of the killings and the total lack of remorse which Morrison showed during his trial.”

  The picture shifted to a press conference with Governor Helen Ryan at the podium. At fifty-three, she was still a woman of striking beauty with long brown hair. Once a famous model and actress whose chief qualification to serve in politics was that she had never appeared in a porno, she always made a good appearance on-camera.

  “He openly bragged about the murders like they were some great achievement,” she began, “When describing the horrible murder of one of his victims, he said it was the best time he had ever had in his life. Given the vicious nature of his crimes, it wasn’t difficult to deny his appeal at all.”

  The anchor returned to the screen and read the last copy of the story.

  “The execution will be attended by the relatives of several of his victims, as well as members of the press.”

  That was it. The next piece was about a newly found leak in the waste refinery.

  *****

  A damp chill hung about the outside of the State Prison grounds, a cold dampness that penetrated to the bone of any who stayed outside. But nobody stood vigil that night. The days of chanting crowds and protestors were long gone in a world that just didn’t care anymore. The cheapest of all commodities was Human Life. The State that had no tolerance used homicide of its own to deal with malefactors as a way of saving money.

  Inside, the Death Chamber was preparing for another spectacle. Nobody said anything. The eerie quiet clung to the room like the gray paint on the walls, as if the slightest noise, a cough or a sigh, would violate the stillness, and bring the rebuke of unseen warders. Death alone had a voice here, and its sound was silence. The witnesses stood at a railing which surrounded a small, circular structure in the center of the space. Guards stood near the chamber door and along the walls of the room. Curtains completely concealed it from view, like a grim puppet stage ready for a show. Although quiet, the mood was tense.

  After a few moments the curtain opened, and everyone leaned forward to see inside. Strapped onto a gurney with one arm secured to a board, was John Morrison. A hypo with two tubes extended from that arm.

  He lay there very agitated. A young man with angular features, a head full of blond hair, and disturbing, childish eyes. Before his crimes caught up with him most regarded him as a handsome man. The scene hardly stirred, as if the slightest sound would shatter the moment. At the railing on the near side were the reporters scratching hasty notes on pads.

  On the far side of the chamber were the victim’s next-of-kin. A middle-aged man, Kurt Williams, stared very hard into the glass. Next to him was an elderly couple staring without emotion. Morrison looked directly at Williams and grinned softly. The older man’s face hardened as he stared back at him. The woman next to Williams looked down at the ground to avoid the Condemned Man’s eyes.

  “Now I wish I hadn’t come.” she said softly. Williams looked at her, surprised.

  “Before he cut off my boy’s head,” he said, “He shoved a ball-peen hammer up his rectum. As far as I’m concerned, this is too good for him!”

  The nearby guard shushed him gently. Morrison looked around the room at the faces of the people witnessing his execution. Sweat began to form on his face as his level of agitation increased. Finally he burst out in laughter.

  “Enjoying the Show?” he roared. “I hope it’s sufficiently entertaining for the Press! Lethal injection isn’t all it’s cracked up to be!”

  The observers looked at each other, puzzled by his comments. Many frowned at this show of defiance.

  To his right, he saw the dim, but familiar figure of a man in a tan suit. He recognized him at once: Inspector Leonard White of L.A.P.D. Homicide, the man who had tracked him down and brought him in to face justice. For a brief moment Morrison calmed down. Of all the people in the room before him, White was the man for whom he held the closest thing to respect.

  Although tireless and tough, he always treated Morrison fairly, even providing him with a blanket when he complained of being cold the night of his arrest. At the trial his testimony was concise and scientific, but he never embellished the facts, nor made unfair characterizations from the stand.

  Morrison was somewhat gratified to see that White actually took the time to be there at that moment, just as he promised he would. He stared without expression at Morrison through clear, brown eyes without movement or emotion.

  “Inspector White,” he said softly, “Thank you for coming.”

  White never took his eyes off of the condemned man and nodded softly in acknowledgement. Morrison thought he saw a hint of sympathy in his face.

  He felt a sudden sharp pain in his chest and winced. Several of the next-of-kin noticed it and reacted with satisfaction. He looked at the middle-aged couple. The woman began to cry. The warden stepped out of the shadows.

  “Fuck you!” Morrison shouted at the gathering. “I’ll see every stinking one of you again...”

  The pain came back. This time it knocked the wind out of him and he collapsed, flat onto the gurney. He closed his eyes and jerked, his body fighting the drugs, and suddenly going limp. He took a long gasp and finally opened his eyes with great effort.

  “This is Hell...” he mumbled with airless lungs. “We’re in Hell...”

  His words trailed off as he lost consciousness, his breath shallowing with every exhale. The witnesses stared quietly as he took his final breaths. No one spoke; each witness was now alone with their own thoughts.

  After several more minutes, a doctor connected a stethoscope to the jack and check
ed his watch. After another moment he looked at the warden and nodded his head. The grim master of ceremonies turned toward the assembly and spoke:

  “Ladies and gentlemen, John C. Morrison was pronounced dead at 12:09 AM Pacific Time. Thank you for your participation. The guards will show you the way out.”

  He gestured to the guards as the curtain slowly closed on the booth. The door opened, revealing a bright light from the next room. To the witnesses it seemed almost like something from a dream. For most of them the Observers Room gave a feeling apart from reality, like a dim gray purgatory between two worlds. The light reassured many as they moved toward it.

  As requested, they shuffled out in single file, making no sound at all as they walked. On the opposite wall of the gray room they cast black shadows against it, like ghostly specters moving away in silence. The door closed silently. Once they had left, the far side of the chamber opened. Two guards quietly moved the gurney with its grim cargo to a far exit. Without even knocking the door opened, and the gurney rolled inside. There was no sound as it closed again.

  Chapter Two: Peek A Boo

  One of the few really large-scale enterprises of the last fifty years was the Phoenix Asteroid Project. Executed by a consortium of multinational construction and aerospace firms, it involved the capture and relocation of a fifteen mile long asteroid from the great belt beyond Mars. Located beyond lunar orbit, it was the product of one man’s vision: Dr. Gordon Bell, the father of ecto-infusion.

  A genius in biochemistry and physics, he became an international celebrity at the age of twenty-two when he isolated, and ultimately demonstrated, the chemical properties of ectoplasmic compounds. Winning the Nobel Prize at the age of twenty-five, the secretive eccentric moved to the frozen expanses of Paris and conducted further experiments in ecto-infusion. Ten years later he stunned the whole world by resurrecting a strangulation victim from Lubbock, whose testimony at the trial of her own murderer set the public, as well as the legal profession, on its ears.