Mark of the Beast Page 13

  “Yes, can I help you?” Marge replied.

  “I was supposed to give you this.” He showed Marge a package in his hand.

  The pleasure was all over Marge’s face as she approached to accept the package that she thought was the money from Dr. Nsi.

  The blow was so severe, Marge thought she was having a stroke. She didn’t know where the blow had come from. Within seconds, she was unconscious.

  * * *

  Wild Bobby’s Auto Demolition Shop, located north off Route 30 in Lynwood, Illinois, was a sprawling area full of old demolished cars, including cars that were recently involved in accidents. The shop’s main building, at the southeast corner, could not be located easily by a newcomer because it was in the most wooded section of the entire facility. It housed the repair shop, two upstairs offices, an oven, a car wash area, and a washing room for car engines.

  A big casket-like bucket in the middle of the room was clearly visible. Ten gallons of the newly formulated Moheric acid were at the corner of the room. The two assailants fitted Marge’s very limp body in the big bucket. Blood was still oozing out of the crevice made by the blunt trauma to her head.

  The first five gallons slowly evaporated the skin and most of the fatty tissue. After three more gallons, most of the internal organs were no longer visible, although there were many bits of particulate matter still floating.

  When the final two gallons were poured in, the bones melted down like hot wax. After a few minutes, the entire solution appeared dark orange with small scattered flakes. An extra gallon was required for the entire solution to turn colorless, but it remained a little thicker than the original solution. Bobby, the owner, Dr. Moheri, and Dr. Nsi were very impressed, each one speechless. When the spectacle was over, they drove off the compound. Bobby left instructions for the security men to lock up.

  PART

  VIII

  1

  TWO TELEVISION STATIONS IN San Diego were still reeling from Abramhoff’s and Dickerson’s presentations.

  “What do you think of this joint appearance thing?” Dickerson had asked afterward.

  “I’m not sure,” Abramhoff had said. “Let them mull over it for a while.”

  But Dr. Millons was impressed.

  “Good morning, Dr. Dickerson,” Millons greeted, as they walked along the hallway leading to the cafeteria.

  “What can I do for you?” Dickerson responded.

  “Listen, I come in peace,” Millons said, smiling broadly. “I’d like for you to give me a fresh start. I honestly apologize for all my past sins against you.”

  “That’s a new one for you,” Dickerson replied.

  “Sins, transgressions, callousness, call it what you may, I was all that, but I would like forgiveness from you, and I am requesting a chance to work with you on your new project.”

  “Oh, now you want to work with me. I thought you loved working against me.” Dickerson continued walking.

  “Now … now, you know I’m the best-qualified physician on campus to assist you, and the most likely one to help push this project forward.”

  “What do you mean? Was I pushing it backwards?” Dickerson asked.

  “I didn’t mean it like that. What I truly meant was that I can be of tremendous assistance to you.”

  Dickerson thought for a while, took a deep breath, stopped in front of the cafeteria door, turned, looked Millons straight in the eye, nodded her head, and said, “Okay, let me think about it. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “That’s great … thanks.”

  After lunch, while walking down the hallway toward her office, Dickerson reflected, this is the same guy that gave me so much grief in the past; now he wants to work with me.

  Arriving in her office, the departmental secretary handed Dickerson letters that she wanted her to see immediately. One, from the National Institutes of Health, was marked urgent and personal.

  Another was a letter from PKS Productions, Inc. in Chicago—the Pearl Hanson Show production company.

  The National Institutes of Health missive was an approval of the grant she had resubmitted with Abramhoff. They both would share a ten-million-dollar grant for massive testing in San Diego and Chicago. The National Institutes of Health instructed both centers to test at least ten thousand inmates. The majority of the tests would be on hard-core criminals, but allowance was granted for criminals with strange and bizarre crimes.

  Picking up the phone in excitement, she called Dr. Abramhoff’s office. Sabrina answered the phone.

  “Hi, Sabrina, this is Dr. Dickerson; is Dr. Abramhoff in?”

  “Good morning, Dr. Dickerson,” Sabrina saluted. “No, he’s not here. He’s teaching a class. Can I have him call you when he gets back? He’ll be done in about twenty minutes.”

  “That would be fine. Just have him call my office.”

  “I’ll do that,” Sabrina reassured Dickerson.

  Dickerson then called the dean of the medical school to notify him of the grant.

  “Congratulations,” a hoarse voice answered at the other end. “You know the university will support the project one hundred percent.”

  “As long as the project is profitable to the university, of course I will be supported a hundred percent,” Dickerson commented after hanging up the phone.

  Dickerson then went to the laboratory, which was located at the south corner of the building, and called an impromptu meeting of the staff.

  “I would like to thank all of you for the support and dedication you have shown to the HLA project,” began Dickerson. “Well, your efforts have yielded great results. Today we have been approved for a ten-million-dollar grant from the NIH.”

  An outburst of joy filled the room; some shouted, others clapped their hands, while a few had tears in their eyes.

  “We, however, have to combine data, collaborate, and submit a joint report to NIH, with Dr. Abramhoff’s people in Chicago,” Dickerson concluded.

  No matter, the news was a welcome relief for most of the workers; they had put in long overtime hours with average compensation hoping for this day to arrive.

  2

  BACK IN THE OFFICE, the call finally came from Chicago. “Did you receive the notification?” Dickerson asked.

  “Yes, I did,” Abramhoff answered.

  “So what’s next?”

  “Well, here in Chicago, we already have the support of the governor,” Abramhoff stated. “He’s signed an executive order for us to go ahead with the testing, and we already have arranged with the Kankakee facility, and they are ready to go. I think we will need to include a few other facilities here in Illinois to be able to come up with ten thousand inmates who fit the criteria.”

  “I might have to do the same thing here in San Diego,” Dickerson said.

  “I strongly believe that you need to involve the governor to be able to get a better result. I think he might be looking forward to meeting with you.”

  “Politics and politicians are not my cup of tea.… In fact, I don’t drink tea,” Dickerson replied.

  “As it stands now, you are heavily involved in politics, and when this whole thing blows wide open, you and I will be at the front and center of world politics.”

  “This whole thing is becoming interesting and bizarre,” Dickerson observed.

  “Give the governor’s office a call, and take it from there.”

  3

  WHEN DICKERSON CALLED THE governor’s office in Sacramento, she was surprised to learn that the governor was anticipating her call, just as Abramhoff had predicted. The governor wanted her to come to Sacramento, if at all possible, for a joint public appearance. Dickerson immediately seized on the opportunity and agreed to meet with the governor in two days.

  At the cafeteria to grab a noon salad, Dickerson ran into Millons again.

  “Hi there! Any encouraging news?” Millons asked.

  “Yeah, I’ve decided that you can join the team,” Dickerson replied.

  Before an excited Millons co
uld even say thank you, Dickerson delivered an instruction: “Any crude remarks, sexually charged comments, or inappropriate behavior, and you are off the team.”

  “Trust me, you will see my best behavior,” Millons said, crossing his chest.

  As she was about to exit the cafeteria, Dickerson turned, hesitated for a moment, then with a smile on her face asked, “By the way, I am meeting with the governor in two days in Sacramento for a photo op, would you like to come?” She was expecting Millons to make a sarcastic remark, but instead …

  “Would I like to come? Of course,” Millons said.

  * * *

  The meeting with Governor Luis N. Nagoya was cordial, brief, and very productive. The governor promised to sign an executive order allowing Dr. Dickerson’s team to use the two state facilities in San Diego County, and a couple more if needed in Los Angeles County, to conduct their research. Pleased with the outcome, Dickerson and Millons returned to San Diego to arrange and plan strategy for their massive testing.

  Meanwhile, back in the office early next morning, Dickerson received a call from PHS Productions. The director of communication and guest appearances for PHS Productions was able to finalize the arrangements for Dickerson’s appearance.

  Ms. Hanson could not come to the phone due to a taping conflict.

  “Your appearance will be a live feed,” the director said. “We have…”

  “What is a live feed?” interrupted Dickerson innocently.

  “What that means is, as Pearl is talking to you and you are responding, it’ll be seen live on national television, so there’s very little room for editing or retakes. We have never interviewed a scientific doctor one-on-one before, so this is kind of new for us.”

  “I … I think I can handle myself,” Dickerson reassured, while inwardly feeling less self-assured.

  “We like that confidence in our guests. It helps with the jitters.”

  “Thanks, but how do I get there?”

  “Oh, we’ll take care of that, Doc. You’re our special guest. We will send you packaged information containing all the details; the tickets, hotel stay, limousine, food, and all incidentals will be taken care of. All we need is you.”

  “That’s fine by me … Oh, by the way, what date are we looking at?”

  “June sixth, nine a.m., Chicago time.”

  “June sixth, that’s weird, but so be it.” Dickerson jotted the information down in her calendar.

  On the early morning Sunday show that weekend, while Dickerson was getting ready to attend the 10:30 A.M. Mass, she picked up the remote and turned on the weekly Meet the Press Sunday hour.

  Three panel members happened to be discussing the HLA phenomenon. One was a minister, the other a senator from Tennessee, and the third a political pundit.

  “What do you think the national agenda should be if this HLA theory proves true?” the moderator asked the senator.

  “First, let me begin by saying that there has been a significant rise in violent crime in the United States in the past few years. Secondly, federal dollars are being stretched to the max to accommodate the growing number of criminals, and building new prisons is not the answer.”

  “But what do you think of the HLA finding?” redirected the moderator.

  “The government has appropriated ten million dollars for further studies of the HLA. I hate to speculate, but if the HLA findings are true beyond reasonable doubt, a congressional hearing will be needed to draft a national response.”

  “Abramhoff might be right after all,” observed Dr. Dickerson aloud before turning off the television.

  4

  TWO DAYS PRIOR TO flying to Chicago, Dickerson received a call from Abramhoff. “How are you coming along with your numbers?” asked Abramhoff, his voice a little raspy. “Did you meet with the governor yet?”

  “Yes, we met with the governor, all right,” Dickerson said, trying to narrow down in her head what clothes to wear to the show. “He was very charming and welcoming. We had a photo shoot with him, and that was all over the newspapers in California.”

  “I’m glad. You keep referring to ‘we’; do you have an assistant now?”

  “Yes, Dr. Peter Millons. He’s a gene specialist and has a good statistical background. He used to be very envious of the project, but now he’s a strong ally.”

  “The meeting you had with the governor—how was that?” Abramhoff sneezed.

  “God bless you. He promised to sign an executive order allowing us to use facilities in San Diego County and, if needed, a couple more in L.A. County.”

  “So how is it going?”

  “We’ve been busy. I believe currently we are approaching eighty-two percent completion,” responded Dickerson, wondering why Abramhoff sounded rushed, and with a cold. “How are you coming along with the project and your cold?”

  “Don’t worry, this is just an allergy, but Governor Roderick has already committed dollars prior to the National Institutes of Health grant,” Abramhoff said, gloating. “We have also been working hard at our two facilities. We added two more centers in the interim: one in Springfield, Illinois; the other in East St. Louis. I believe we can finish the initial analysis in the upcoming week.”

  “Next week will be tight for me,” Dickerson said, feeling a little thwarted, “but I think we can manage.”

  This was the first time Dickerson had felt a competitive atmosphere between herself and Dr. Abramhoff, and for now, it appeared that Abramhoff had a slight edge. Attempting to neutralize that edge, Dickerson countered, “We have what I call ‘a periodic statistical analysis’ as we progress; that way, our final cumulative data will be much easier to calculate.”

  “That’s interesting…” Abramhoff said with a subdued voice. “What numbers are you getting?”

  “The preliminary results are matching what we saw previously.” Dickerson felt vindicated.

  “That’s what you expected, right?”

  “Yes,” Dickerson concurred. “And by the way, I will be in Chicago in two days for a live Pearl show. I will call you when I get to Chicago.”

  “Congratulations,” was all Abramhoff could say, while wondering silently why the Pearl people didn’t call him, since he was already in Chicago.

  5

  STUDIO B WAS VERY chaotic the morning of the interview. People were moving rapidly in and out of various hastily constructed offices. Dickerson had never been in a television studio before.

  The trip to Chicago, the hotel, and the limousine ride to PHS Studios were all peaceful, but inside Studio B, there was chaos.

  She was ushered to her makeup room, and after a few nervous introductions, Pearl finally walked in and greeted her. A very imposing person, thought Dickerson, as everyone in the room acknowledged her presence. She was much nicer than Dickerson had expected, having read about her in the gossip tabloids.

  Pearl introduced herself and made flattering comments about Dickerson’s non-traditional doctorial attire. Then Pearl and Dickerson huddled in the corner office to go over the cues.

  The live show, taped in a huge auditorium-like theater, had the audience seated in a semicircle. The stage had more lights than anything Dickerson had ever seen before.

  Finally … lights, camera, action. Standing behind the curtain, Dickerson could hear the applause from the audience.

  She could hear Pearl saying, “Today we have a first—a special guest. She has not been interviewed, one-on-one, in front of the camera before, and we have not had a medical scientist on our show before, so ladies and gentlemen, be nice to her.”

  There was laughter from the audience.

  “Without going further, I give you Dr. Regina Dickerson,” concluded Pearl, clapping, while she watched Dickerson enter the center stage. Then, another round of applause followed when she finally reached the center stage, standing in front of a lounge chair positioned for her.

  Slight beads of sweat could be seen on Dickerson’s forehead. When everybody finally settled down, Dickerson became a litt
le calmer.

  “Please, sit down,” motioned Pearl, as the clapping died down.

  “We all watched your news conference with Dr. Abramhoff here in Chicago,” Pearl said, opening the dialogue, “and being a Christian myself, we were all in awe at the possibilities you inferred, but I would first like for you to give us a little bit of background about yourself and your motivations for this project.”

  Dickerson wasted no time talking about herself and her motivations. That said, Pearl finally stated the real reason for Dickerson’s invitation.

  “At the press conference, you seemed to suggest that there may be a religious connection or implication to the HLA findings. Well, is there?” Pearl asked. She first looked at Dickerson, then let out a little cough and looked at the audience.

  “Yes, there is a definite connection,” Dickerson replied. She looked at Pearl, then turned to the sea of faces.

  “What exactly do you mean, and how exactly did you arrive at that connection?”

  “What I meant is that I’ve had a very strong religious upbringing myself, and from the recent biblical studies that I have undertaken at Creighton University’s Department of Ancient Scriptures, I strongly believe that there is a connection.”

  “Creighton University … isn’t that the Jesuit University in Omaha, Nebraska?” Pearl elaborated with a precise gesture at the audience.

  “Yes, that’s the one,” answered Dickerson, shifting her position on the chair.

  “So the Creighton University research you did helped you to make this connection.” Pearl clasped her hands in front of her in anxious anticipation.

  “I will assume here that we are all familiar with the number 666 from the Book of Revelation?” Dickerson, with little sweat beads on her forehead, looked at Pearl for a word of support.

  “Yes, and I know we Christians are all aware of its connotation to the devil,” Pearl again elaborated, while nodding her head at the audience.

  “Well, the night after the press conference, I received a call from a theology professor in Cairo, Egypt.”