David Golemon - Ripper

“The director called and said they’re ready for your deposition to our newly arrived CDC people.”

Mendenhall perked up as he realized he would get to see the young Dr. Bannister again. Then his smile faded as he remembered she would be with her father, Colonel Bannister.

Mendenhall turned and left as he was starting to realize he didn’t stand a chance with someone like Gloria Bannister.

The reactivated Event Group personnel from the CDC were sitting around the large conference table on the seventh level. Niles Compton was at his accustomed place at the head of the table and next to him was Virginia. The doctors from the Group and now the CDC were all facing the large-screen monitor as they took in the information compiled by Pete, who was busy using his pointer on the large 3-D screen while explaining about Perdition’s Gate and its ownership through the years.

“We have thus far met a block wall as far as getting the history of Professor Lawrence Ambrose. His academic credentials, his research grants, his employment history seem to have been misplaced by everyone in government. Where he received the millions upon millions of dollars to conduct research has not been discovered — yet,” Pete added. “We hope to have that question answered very soon as we are just now starting to pore through the old data compiled by the Group back in 1916. The material is volumes in length and extremely detailed so it may take a while. We have decided that at least one of you should assist in the archival research. You may see something we don’t.”

“So, until two days ago you had never heard of this Lawrence Ambrose before?” Colonel Bannister asked.

“No,” Niles answered for Pete Golding. “We discovered the results of his work and the sample we brought back after our security detachment’s raid into Perdition Hacienda south of Nuevo Laredo one day ago.”

“And the subject of this raid had no knowledge of the hacienda’s ownership at the turn of the century?” Dr. Emily Samuels, one of Virginia’s old nuclear science students, asked.

“Thus far our search has turned up no relationship between Professor Ambrose and Juan Guzman,” Pete answered as he pointed at the picture of the Anaconda in the right-hand corner of the screen. “As far as we can see, it was just a fluke, a coincidence that they ended up owning the same hacienda, one hundred years apart.”

“In the earlier portion of your brief you said that the area of concern at the hacienda was two levels below the main floor of the house, and that level had been sealed earlier in the century in an attack by the American military searching for the bandit known as Pancho Villa, am I correct?” Colonel Bannister asked as he checked off the question from his list of about a hundred.

Niles nodded his head.

“Then it seems the answer may lie in the auspices of the Department of the Army. Wouldn’t that be the next logical step in your search?”

“Dead end. There were no such orders, at least officially, issued for the 8th United States Cavalry to cross into Mexico on that day and date. It is well known that on that particular night, Pancho Villa was raiding a Mexican federal pay shipment from Juarez. He was a far distance from Perdition on the night of the raid.” Pete looked at his notes and pushed his horn-rimmed glasses back onto the bridge of his nose.

“Then how do you know the raid on the hacienda actually took place?” Gloria Bannister asked.

“A journal — little known and kept in a family trunk for many, many years,” Virginia Pollock added.

“And whose journal are we speaking of?” Gloria asked.

“A first lieutenant who actually commanded the raid that night — George S. Patton,” Virginia answered, stealing Pete’s thunder. “We not only know he led the raid that night, but also that the Event Group was there right along with him. That’s how we came into possession of the artifacts from 1916.”

“ The George Patton — General George Patton?” the colonel asked, raising his brows.

“The family of the general always thought the raids into Mexico did nothing to enhance the general’s reputation after the war years, so that was one piece of information they kept pretty close to the vest, only stating that the general was in on the pursuit of Pancho Villa. They never once uttered the words Perdition’s Gate or Professor Lawrence Ambrose ,” Pete said as he lowered his pointer and then looked at his notes. He then nodded at Virginia who stood up and walked to the large screen where the navy signalman replaced the scene from the spot where Perdition used to sit to a large picture of Lawrence Ambrose himself as he was just after he finished his studies.

“Professor Lawrence Jackson Ambrose was born in the third year of the American Civil War in 1863. His father was a greenhouse keeper and gardener in Indianapolis, Indiana, and was killed the same year his son was born at the battle of Gettysburg. After that Ambrose was raised by a doting mother, Isabel, and eventually went off to college. He graduated from the University of Indiana with the highest honors of his academic class.”

“What were the main courses of study?” another doctor, Pierce, asked from the end of the group.

“Botany,” Virginia answered. “The man, according to graduation reports from his professors, was a genius, as was his father in the breeding, cross-breeding, and pollination of plant life. He was the foremost authority on splicing and was one of the first to conduct such experiments on wild flowers and plants from exotic areas of the world. It was these experiments that led to the disappearance of Ambrose in 1885. At the time, the professor was only twenty-two years of age and the most brilliant man in his field. We suspect he was hired into private practice, for what reason we do not know. He literally vanished from the face of the earth and didn’t show up again until the raid by the United States cavalry into Mexico in 1916.”

“Now, I have three people that were at Perdition Hacienda the night of the Guzman raid. They will fill you in on the effects of this sample that was recovered from the sublevel of that building. They are witness to the change that occurred on more than one man and its subsequent effect on their minds and bodies,” Niles said as he nodded for the blue-clad marine to allow the three people into the conference room.

Captain Carl Everett, Sarah McIntire, and Will Mendenhall stepped into the conference room, each clad in their military-designated coveralls of blue and gold trim. All had their military designation on their sleeve and collars. Carl waited for Mendenhall and Sarah, who still had most of her face hidden behind a large pair of glasses. She looked at Director Compton and he lightly tapped his own glasses. She took the meaning and removed her glasses. She saw the look on the lead doctor’s face as he took in Sarah’s large black eyes and broken nose.

“I don’t know what function your people perform for our government Dr. Compton, but I hope you get hazardous-duty pay,” Colonel Bannister said as he looked back at Sarah who actually smiled back at him.

“They do get hazardous-duty pay, and believe me, Colonel, they earn it here,” Compton said as he removed his glasses and then nodded at Virginia to offer up the questions for Everett and the other two witnesses to the amazing transformation of Juan Guzman the night of the raid.

Virginia smiled and then looked at Captain Everett who looked as if he really didn’t want to be in the conference room at all.

“Doctors, this is Captain Everett, the head of our security staff. He…,” she hesitated a moment, choosing the only words that came to mind. “He led the assault on Perdition Hacienda two nights ago. Captain, can you explain to our guests from the CDC what happened in the brief firefight between your forces and those of Juan Guzman?” Virginia smiled and nodded her head at Carl.