Get a sneak peek at Unnatural Cause, an award-winning title in the Marc Wayne action adventure sci-fi technothriller series. Check out the first three chapters of Unnatural Cause.
Chapter 1 of Unnatural Cause
Mallory Wayne chambered a round in her SIG Sauer and holstered the gun inside her jacket. Between work and tonight’s assignment, she had skipped lunch in favor of practicing her aim at the shooting range. With a final look at her appearance in the full-length mirror, she left the locker room and went to meet her co-workers.
“Your glow can only mean one thing.” Her supervisor, Logan Deverell, studied her as they met at the government vehicle.
From the driver’s seat, Bradley Ralston grinned. “Does Mallory actually have a love life?”
Mallory slid into the back seat leaving the front passenger seat for her supervisor. “Not everyone uses 900 numbers, Ralston.”
The driver feigned shock as he put the car in drive. “Who told?”
Deverell unwrapped gum and the smell of cinnamon lingered as he folded the stick into his mouth. “What brings little boy blue to D.C.?”
“Marc is meeting with personnel of the Patent Office,” Mallory said, “to look over improved security for patents that are flagged with a secrecy order.”
“I saw the director of the Patent and Trademark Office on tonight’s guest list,” Deverell put in. “Along with Marc’s name.”
Raltson glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “I heard you did well as lead on your first project.”
“Except for the part where I almost got my brother killed.” Mallory looked out the window, surprised at the lump that had jumped into her throat.
The drive from the FBI building to the Russell Senate Office Building wasn’t far but D.C. traffic was notoriously slow. Located along Constitution and Delaware avenues, the Russell Building officially opened for the 61st Congress on March 5, 1909, making it the oldest of the United States Senate offices.
Inside, Mallory and her coworkers made their way to the Kennedy Caucus Room, dedicated to the service of brothers John F. Kennedy, Edward F. Kennedy, and Robert M. Kennedy. Members of the FBI as well as the Secret Service had swept the room, the building, and the surrounding area in preparation for tonight’s occasion. Mallory checked the time, anticipating when her brother would arrive from Indiana for tonight’s event.
Considered one of the grandest and most historic in the capital city, the room had served as the stage for important functions including Senate committee investigations on the Titanic, Pearl Harbor, and Watergate. John F. Kennedy had announced his candidacy for president of the United States in this setting.
Tonight, Mallory expected a significant announcement about Senator Elgin Russell. A descendant of former Georgia Senator Richard Russell Jr. for whom the building was named for, Elgin Russell’s stellar career had positioned him to be a promising candidate for the White House. With his background in law, Russell’s name had been discussed as a nominee for Supreme Court Justice.
Mallory watched as guests began to enter the room. In the dance of politics, position, and power, people said hello to some and snubbed others.
“Little boy blue is in the house.” Deverell’s voice came through her earpiece.
She searched the incoming faces and spotted Marc. He saw her and came her way.
“Do my eyes deceive me or is that a tie?” She touched the neat knot at his throat. “I’m impressed.”
“My first.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “That scout badge for knots came in handy.”
“We’ll grab a late dinner after and catch up.”
“Deal.” He grinned and went to find his seat.
Like so many other formal events that Mallory had been part of, the hall filled and buzzed with conversation that quieted when the emcee gave his opening welcome. The audience stood and clapped when Senator Russell took the podium. A young and handsome man, Mallory thought Russell had the clean-cut Americana charisma of a Kennedy. Much like a high school class valedictorian, he was currently Washington’s most likely to succeed.
“I’d like for us to take a moment of silence in honor of the recent passing of our supreme court justice.” Russell bowed his head and the room became solemn. Mere weeks ago, Mallory recalled, the Supreme Court Justice Franklin Bell had dropped dead of a heart attack. The news had come as a surprise considering the Justice had been young and, according to his recent check-up, appeared to be in vibrant health.
After 60 seconds, Russell broke the silence. “We salute the past and those patriots who stewarded our nation to this present moment. Leaving the past, we look now to the future.” The senator spoke at length about the state of the nation and the issues that were foremost in the minds of America’s citizens and her leaders. “With these in mind, I am here to–”
But the pregnant pause before the dramatic announcement went overly long. Mallory studied the speaker’s face as his mouth contorted and his color paled. Sweat broke out on his forehead. In her earpiece, Mallory heard Deverell swear.
Senator Elgin Russell clawed at his chest as his pallor changed from gray to blue. His wife stood and called his name. Then the room erupted in pandemonium as the Senator dropped to the platform floor.
Chapter 2 for Unnatural Cause
I should be a patient here somewhere, not standing upright, let alone walking.
Jeff Griggs gritted his teeth against the pain as he followed an older couple inside, close enough on their heels that he appeared to be with them, but enough behind that the twosome wouldn’t react. The Oncology clinic waiting room in the Chicago Hospital should provide the anonymity needed for a few hours. The fact that they walked slowly proved an added bonus.
That bullet probably broke the ninth rib on my left side.
Broken ribs were a familiar companion in Griggs’ life. The dang things were perpetually a magnet in his line of work. Good design, come to think of it. Or that bullet would have hit something important like a lung. Or his heart.
Last night may have been the first time a Tom Clancy novel saved a life. Luckily, the shot encountered the novel in an outer pocket of the vest. If not for the additional padding provided by the thick paperback, the Kevlar probably wouldn’t have been enough. Plunking down cash for Clancy’s highly detailed writing, plus the four-page foreword by the former United States joint chief-of-staff, had been the best $17.95 investment Griggs had made.
Down the hall and in sight of the rectangular waiting room with a bored looking receptionist, Griggs peeled off from his pseudo relatives in favor of the men’s room. He glanced both ways as he entered. Good. Alone. But the door swung open a few seconds later and he turned to the mirrors to catch a glimpse of the newcomer. In the mirror, he watched a hospital security officer follow him into the public restroom. He squelched a curse and bypassed the urinal. He must not make eye contact or do anything that would cause him to be memorable to the guard.
In a stall, he sat heavily. His ribs weren’t the only area screaming agony. As best as he could tell, a ballistic tipped 44 magnum had caused this pain in his side. The guy knew how to place a shot, but hadn’t anticipated the quasi-fictional tome.
Nor the response from my SP-101 to his forehead.
The assailant’s look of disbelief etched in Griggs’ mind when the .357-jacketed hollow point did business with his gray matter. Griggs knew that would be the stuff of nightmares in the future. No matter how justified the shot, the image always came back to haunt him. Did anyone kill without being affected by the deed? Though he hated the spectral night replays that disturbed his sleep when he most needed rest, Griggs didn’t ever want to be so calloused that the taking of a human life no longer stirred his conscience.
Even when the kill became necessary.
A troubling tidbit of that sub-portion of this nightmare remained in the fact that the dead man had been prepared – determined – to put a shot through Griggs’ body armor. He nearly succeeded. It would have been game over.
Static, followed by an all business voice came from the security officer’s radio. Griggs listened hard. Had an alert been received about him? Had the authorities initiated a search for anyone connected to the shooting? Once word got out, he wouldn’t be able to take a dump without black-suited feds looking up his skirt.
“Be on the lookout for …”
Leaning so he could peer without being obvious, Griggs watched through the narrow opening between the locked door and the stall wall. Suddenly looking important, the guard turned down the volume.
Griggs cocked his head, straining to hear the nasally sounding dispatcher. “Searching … if you locate … ”
The rent-a-cop keyed an acknowledgement, surveyed the room, and left.
So the security officer would either search for Griggs – and anyone else connected with last night’s escapade – or he had been sent on a hospital Easter egg hunt for a geriatric’s lost teeth.
Chapter 3 of Unnatural Cause
“This guy is the poster child for eccentric inventors.” Violet, smelling of lavender, stood in the doorway of his workroom.
Marc glanced up from the components he was fitting together. “Who?”
“Your first appointment of the day.” She hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “He’s either a clown in training with Barnum or his mother dresses him funny.”
Marc’s lab occupied the rear of the narrow building. Shelves along the walls held inventions in various stages of development. Home from his eventful visit to the nation’s capital to see his sister, Mallory, and meet with the Patent Office director, Marc had arrived early to work on a new idea. Now, perched on a stool at a cluttered table in the center of the room, Marc put a finger to his lips and nodded toward the opposite end of the table where the TV was tuned to the news.
Images of riots suddenly flashed across the screen of the television. “France continues to reel from the sudden death of French President Charpentier,” the news anchor reported. “As conservative royalists claim the top leadership position, liberals chant reminders of the revolutionary guillotine.”
When the newscast shifted to sports, Violet cleared her throat. “Marc. Your client.”
“Yes.” Marc used the remote to lower the volume. “You know, one of Einstein’s housekeeper’s jobs was to make certain the genius dressed before he left the house.”
“Apparently today is the housekeeper’s day off.” Violet inclined her head. “I put him and his nutty costume in your office.”
Following Violet down the hallway, Marc wiped his hands on his pant legs. She glanced back pointedly at the smudges he deposited on his clothing.
“What?”
She rolled her eyes and stepped aside for him to precede her into the room where Marc wrote patent applications and met with clients. The appearance of his smallish personal office had certainly changed since Violet Seiwert had become his assistant. Though it had never been discussed during the interview nor outlined in the job description, she had easily infused style into the functional space. The previously bare window was framed by antique fishing nets looped over a golf club. Opposite his broad wood desk, she had positioned a leather captain’s chair to accommodate clients. But the chair sat empty.
Wearing a ridiculous wig, oversized clothing that sagged on one side, and dollar-store glasses, a man stood reading the plaques on the wall.
Congress shall have power … to promote the progress of science and the useful arts by securing for limited times for their authors and inventors the exclusive right to their respective writings and discoveries. – Article 1, Section 8, United States Constitution
Next to it, hung a second framed quote.
The question whether there is a patentable invention is as fugitive, impalpable, wayward, and as vague a phantoms as exists in the whole paraphernalia of legal concepts. If there be an issue more troublesome, or more apt for litigation than this, we are not aware of it. – U.S. Judge Learned Hand, Supreme Court
Distracted by the amateurish disguise, Marc tried not to stare. Instead, he put out his hand to the visitor. “I am patent attorney Marc Wayne.”
“Mr. David Jones.” The man refused the handshake.
“Well then.” Marc gestured for his guest to take a seat. “What can I do for you, Mr. Jones?” Long ago, the Midwest attorney learned not to dwell on the personalities of the clients he met in his professional life. In his experience, the more idiosyncratic the inventor, the grander the invention. However, today marked the first time someone had arrived with such outlandish theatrical preparation.
“May I have a glass of water, Mr. Wayne?” Not an unusual request, but the speaker delivered the words with a poor attempt at an accent.
“Certainly.” Marc nodded to Violet and she disappeared in the direction of the small kitchen.
Marc took his seat on the opposite side of the 80-year-old walnut desk built by his grandfather from timber harvested at the family farm in Northern Indiana.
His guest leaned forward. “Is this session being recorded?”
Violet returned and took her time removing Marc’s nearly empty mug of cold Earl Gray tea and arranging a water glass on a ceramic coaster near Mr. Jones.
Marc shook his head. “Should I record it?”
“Absolutely not!” Mr. Jones looked pointedly at Violet.
Marc cleared his throat. “Violet, please close the door on your way out.”
The door closed with a click just enough louder than usual for Marc to know Violet would rather have stayed. She shared his curiosity about the mysterious visitor.
Marc began with his usual introduction. “I have a few initial questions to assure your subject matter will not be in conflict with my other clients –”
“We will begin with a $50,000 retainer.” From an oversized overcoat pocket, the strange man produced two large stacks of bills held together with rubber bands. He thumped the cash on the desk.
Begin? Patent attorney and inventor, Marc Wayne, estimated the stack of one hundred dollar bills on his desk measured two inches thick. $50,000 initiated a beginning? Beginning of what?
From another pocket, the client produced a paper he set before Marc. “It is essential that we establish an attorney-client relationship. Now, once you sign this contract, we will proceed.”
A glance through the wording confirmed a lawyer had prepared the document. Signing an agreement for a privilege already granted to the client felt strange to Marc. “Confidential communications between attorney and client is one of the oldest legal concepts. I can assure you – ”
“I insist.” The man tapped the signature line with an index finger missing a fingernail. “Before I make full and frank disclosures, you must sign this contract binding you to confidentiality.”
Marc had seen this scenario countless times; rabid to protect their baby, inventors sought stringent, even waterproof legal protection. Though he had yet to encounter a hypothesis that warranted such precautions. Besides, an attorney that violated this concept could be disbarred. Regardless, inventors seeking their first patent were frequently paranoid about someone stealing their brilliant idea.
Studying his visitor, Marc could see that no amount of reassurance would convince the man that such an agreement wasn’t necessary. This stranger had taken paranoia to a new level.
“Your signature, please.”
Rereading the words, Marc ascertained that the agreement reiterated the common understanding of attorney-client privilege. He picked up a pen and wrote his name.
“Very well.” The paper disappeared back into Mr. Jones’ overcoat pocket. “Let me be upfront. I understand that your sister, Mallory Wayne, is a Special Agent of the FBI and the two of you were in the news not long ago regarding an invention of yours stolen by the Chinese. Because of your connection with her, and your familiarity with technology, I have come.”
His rehearsed speech delivered, Mr. Jones pulled what appeared to be a handheld GPS from his shirt pocket.
Why did Mallory interest this peculiar person? Before Marc could ask, Mr. Jones moved the glass of water from the coaster and set the device above the coaster and pressed a button. After the device displayed a green light, he replaced the glass of water on the coaster.
Did the mechanism determine some sort of attribute about the location of the glass of water? Marc quickly theorized a number of possibilities. But the water and the gadget remained motionless.
Mr. Jones broke the momentary silence. “You see, I need to bring current events to the table so that I might explain what is needed.” He held up a finger for each of the three. “The death of a Supreme Court justice one month ago, the death of a Senator last week, and the death days ago of the French President.”
Marc remembered the shock of seeing Senator Russell Elgin die at the moment he was about to announce the next step in his political career. Days later, while waiting for his connecting flight to return home to Fort Wayne, Marc had watched the breaking news announcing the death of the president of France. “Yes,” Marc sat back in his chair. “I’m aware.”
The curious visitor slipped the device back into his pocket. “None of these men were old, in fact they ranged from 40 to 55 years of age. Do you know the causes of death?”
Marc recalled the television news report about the French President he had viewed just before meeting Mr. Jones. As Marc mentally tried to connect Mallory, the glass of water, and these governmental leaders, Mr. Jones answered his own question. ”Embolism. A small, but deadly air bubble in the bloodstream.”
Glancing back to the glass, Marc noted the water remained quiet.
“What is not widely known,” Mr. Jones lowered his voice conspiratorially, “is they were all gas embolisms, and the deaths each occurred in public places the men were known to frequent. These precise facts have raised suspicions.”
Marc tossed out a cliché. “I have heard it said that deaths seem to occur in threes.”
Mr. Jones gave a wry smirk. “Scientific minds don’t entertain superstitions.” Like a magician about to execute some sleight of hand, the man retrieved the GPS-like unit from his pocket. “I will provide a few details to end your puzzlement but now a demonstration. Observe the glass of water. I have neither touched nor put anything into it.”
He pressed buttons. A bubble appeared in the water and rose to the surface. Reaching the air, the bubble popped, spewing water droplets onto the antique desk’s polished surface.
A simple bubble in a glass of water suddenly turned profound. The possibilities for evil flooded Marc’s mind. Here was the ability to end a life in a fashion that appeared natural. The ramifications were staggering. World power could be manipulated by the simple pressing of buttons.
The holder of this device had the ability to kill without suspicion. To commit murder without consequence.
Read what happens next. Get your copy of Unnatural Cause HERE.
