Unleashed (Blake Brier Thrillers Book 2) Read online

  “Tell me what to do and I’ll do it,” Whitby said. His voice carried a serious quality that had not been present before.

  The group clipped back into the line and ascended. Tashi instructed Whitby and, in what felt like only minutes, Blake watched as Whitby reached the summit. He could see the shaken man stare out into the vast landscape. No hooting, no hollering, no jumping up and down. Maybe Whitby was the one who had found what he was looking for.

  Blake reached the summit, followed by Tashi. Blake put his hands together and gave a slight bow. Tashi smiled and did the same. The two walked together toward a small area that other hikers had compacted. Tashi motioned to the end of a frayed rope that still protruded from the anchor. Blake bent down and ran his hand along a jagged ridge of ice, perpendicular to the rope.

  “Greyson.” Blake drew Whitby’s attention to the sharp ridge of ice. Blake said nothing else, but Whitby understood. It wasn’t his fault. Not completely.

  With the rest of the group a few minutes behind, the three sat and enjoyed the solitude of the mountain. Whitby craned his head from one side to the other, as if trying to take a mental panoramic image. Blake couldn’t blame him. He also had never seen anything like it.

  Blake rooted around in his pack and pulled out a few energy bars. He offered them to the others, who declined. Blake removed his outer layer and stuffed it in his pack. He stretched his legs out and leaned back on his hands.

  “How bad?” Tashi pointed to Blake’s shoulder. Blake hadn’t noticed that blood had seeped through the yellow polyester of his pullover.

  “It’s nothing. Of all the sharp things I’ve been stuck with, crampons don’t even make the worst ten.” Blake smiled.

  “It’s amazing what you did Mister Blake.” Tashi turned to Whitby, “He save your life.”

  “Yes, I know, “Whitby chimed in. “I don’t know how to repay you. I mean, I will. I will repay you.”

  “You don’t owe me anything, Greyson. Do you want to know how you can repay me? The next time you’re setting out on one of these adventures. Don’t.”

  Tashi blurted out a quick laugh before he could contain it.

  “Done,” Whitby said. “I think I’ve had my fill.”

  “You have family?” Tashi turned in toward Blake.

  “No family. It’s just me,” Blake answered. He broke his gaze away from the landscape and fixed it on Tashi. “How about you? Where does your family live?”

  “No. Three month on mountain. Then stay with other monk. You see? I take vow. No wife. Yes? Only Buddha.”

  “Oh. You’re Buddhist monk. I wouldn’t have…” Blake reconsidered his words so to not offend the man. Blake had not considered that the man who wore a North Face jacket and Patagonia alpine pants was a monk. He hated that he had let his own biases influence his perception. He changed the course of his questioning. “So, you live at the Monastery?”

  “Yes. Monastery. In Kharikhola. Nine month. All come to mountain, three month.”

  “Maybe that’s the secret Tashi. Simplicity. Solitude. I mean, you seem like a pretty put-together guy. Look at me, my life’s kind of a mess.”

  “Put together?”

  “Yeah. Like you’re at peace with yourself. You know, happiness.”

  “Ah. No secret, Mister Blake. Easy. Buddha teach, only open… this,” he poked at Blake’s forehead, “and this,” and again at his chest, “then find true happiness. You see? Yes? Then, life not a mess.”

  Blake laughed. “I should write that down Tashi. Thanks.”

  The sound of jubilation broke through the meditative mood as the next group of climbers reached the summit.

  Blake stood up. A wave of pins and needles surged behind his eyes and then slowly dissipated. He reached into his pack, pulled out a small oximeter and clipped it to his finger.

  Sixty percent.

  He tossed the oximeter to Whitby, who clipped it onto his own finger.

  Blake peered down the slope toward camp and looked back at Whitby, then down over the edge once more. He let out a sigh, forced a smile and called out to the arriving group, “Congrats Isla! Kris…”

  2

  The angular rays of the morning sun glinted off the chrome adorning the 1930s Art Deco style arches forming the spire of the Chrysler Building. Levi Farr stood beside the wall of floor to ceiling windows in the modern conference room. A powerful view, Farr thought to himself. The perfect place to solidify a monumental deal.

  “What’s taking them so long?” Dr. Sebastian Roberts groaned.

  Levi had almost forgotten his colleague had been sitting in the room. He turned toward Roberts, silhouetting himself against the barbed backdrop of New York City.

  “Relax, Seby,” Levi said.

  Sebastian jutted his neck out toward Levi, as if waiting for the rest of Levi’s sentence to arrive. It did not.

  “I mean, it’s rather rude, don’t you think?” Roberts asked.

  Levi did not answer the rhetorical question. His mind churned through the mental notes he had prepared. The strategy for the game of hard-ball negotiation to come. He felt good. Confident. A product of his ever-present arrogance. An arrogance demonstrated by the fact he had not engaged his corporate attorneys in the matter.

  Levi took in the scene facing him. Dr. Sebastian Roberts, head of the Scientific Division, sat alone at the enormous boardroom table. His back erect against the tall leather chair. His hands folded on the table in front of him as if a protege of Miss Porter herself.

  “Seriously, man. Relax. You cannot show any fear, Seby. Trust me, we have the upper hand. You need to look like it.”

  Dr. Sebastian Roberts and Levi Farr could not be more opposite. A man with squinty-eyes and thick wire-framed glasses, Roberts may have been the least imposing character Levi had ever met. The same had not been said about Levi Farr. At six foot four, 240 pounds, the former Army Ranger’s square jaw and booming voice stood out in the boardroom as much as on the battlefield. Levi had brought Roberts to the thirtieth floor of the E 42nd high-rise for one reason. Because no one understood the technology better. No one understood the value more. Now, Farr hoped that his decision to include Roberts would be the right one.

  The frosted glass doors swung open with a cacophony of voices. An opening parade of a three-ring circus. The first glimpse at the cast of characters.

  “Mr. Farr.” Arthur Oran extended his hand. Levi shook it firmly. “My colleagues, Robert Tombs, Anthony Burgess, Linda Belgrade, and Marcus Fleury.

  “Nice to meet you all. This is my chief scientist, Dr. Sebastian Roberts.”

  Roberts reached over the table to shake Oran’s hand and resumed his seated pose.

  Farr looked past Oran toward three men who had entered the room behind the group.

  “Our attorneys, Mr. Farr. They’ll be sitting in.” Oran motioned to a chair at the corner of the long table. “Please, have a seat.”

  “Thank you.” Farr took the chair positioned at the head of the table. He could sense Oran’s urge to protest, which did not materialize. The group each chose a seat and settled in.

  “Mr. Farr, I have to hand it to you,” Oran started. “I could say that we’re making history here today by our mere presence. Never in history, as far as I’m aware, have the heads of the five biggest pharmaceutical companies in the world sat at the same table. And on the same side, no less. Frankly, I’m enjoying the irony.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.” A smirk crept over Burgess’s pursed lips.

  Levi would have to endure small talk and flattery before the group would dig into the meat of the matter. But Oran was right, and Levi allowed himself to soak it all in for a few moments. His pride swelled as he considered how he had built his company, Techyon, from a small firm that provided corporate and diplomatic security, into what many would consider a giant. From employing a few dozen knuckle-dragging spec-ops buddies to cultivating a stable of some of the world’s preeminent experts.

  “Who would like to start?” Oran asked.
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  Levi decided it was time to take control of the room.

  “Gentleman, as you know, Techyon is a global leader in the military contracting world. Israel, the United States, and our allies have relied on our firm for everything from specialized tactical teams, cyber-security, weapon systems engineering, and almost everything in between. But our mission, our commitment, is the science. The science that can change the world.”

  The group allowed Levi to continue with no attempt to interrupt.

  “Do you know why I named my company Techyon?” Levi continued without a pause. “It’s an homage. A statement of our commitment. As many of you know, my father, rest his soul, was a physicist. He devoted his life to proving the existence of a single particle. The tachyon. He believed that the smallest scientific discovery could have a ripple effect on our understanding of our world.”

  Levi scanned the room to gauge whether he was losing the attention of the group. He wondered if the prepared speech was coming across as contrived. He cut it short. “Let me cut to the chase.”

  Levi Farr was a lot of things, but delusional was not one of them. He understood little of the science that Roberts and his people produced. That he had no real qualifications to be in the position in which he found himself. Despite all of it, he had been single-handedly responsible for the meteoric growth of the company. Through hard-learned lessons and unshakable confidence, he beat the odds. In private circles, he would say he had but two skills. Violence and the ability to lie to anyone, anywhere. Here, he had no use for either.

  “Have you reviewed the proposal?” Levi asked.

  “Yes.” Belgrade jumped in. “At great length, Mr. Farr. I believe I can speak for the group when I say that you have impressed us. Stunned us, in fact.”

  For the first time since the day began, a smile graced the face of Sebastian Roberts.

  “So, you see why we believe it’s worth the money,” Levi said. “One hundred billion dollars is not only reasonable, but a bargain.”

  “Mr. Farr, we know what this sum of money can do for you and for the future of your company,” Tombs said.

  “But?” Levi braced himself for the answer.

  “Don’t get us wrong. Your asking price is fair. More than fair. The implications of something like this are incredible. It’s just…”

  Levi waited. Tombs shot a look at Oran.

  “Mr. Farr, can we speak with you alone for a moment?” All eyes focused on the quiet scientist sitting toward the far end of the table.

  Levi nodded at Roberts.

  “Oh. Yes. I’ll be right outside should you have any questions. I’ve brought some additional data that I would love to show you.” Roberts gathered his things and exited through the double doors. He poked his head back over the threshold as the door swung closed. “Let me know.”

  “Mr. Farr.” Oran’s tone now more direct. “We have a counteroffer for you.”

  “Shoot.” Levi leaned back in his chair. Just as he expected.

  “We know as much about you as one can know about a person, Mr. Farr. We’ve done our homework. We know where you’ve come from and, if I may be so bold, where you want to go. We believe you understand the importance of discretion. Would you say we are accurate in this assessment, Mr. Farr?”

  “Without a doubt.” Levi assured them.

  “Good, because this conversation does not leave this room. We are prepared to offer you substantially more than your asking price.”

  “Okay?” Levi almost sang the word. His eyes narrowed as his brain tried to readjust to a twist it had not rehearsed for.

  “We are offering five hundred billion dollars.” Oran paused. “To kill the program.” He punctuated the statement by mimicking Levi’s posture, leaning back into his chair and crossing his arms.

  “Wait. You want to kill it?”

  “Yes, Mr. Farr,” Fluery interjected for the first time, “erase all trace that the program ever existed.”

  “But why?” Levi wasn’t sure it mattered. Five hundred billion. With the injection of that much capital, he could expand his reach to where he could dominate most of the markets in which Techyon competed.

  “Our actuaries have spent the last week running every scenario,” Fluery explained, “and very few of them work out in our favor. The companies represented in this room, Mr. Farr, generate a yearly revenue that exceeds a trillion dollars, as I’m sure you are aware. What you are offering would significantly jeopardize this. We cannot absorb it. So, we need you to kill it.”

  One of the nameless attorneys pulled a stack of paperwork from a black leather bag and slid the packet across the table to Levi.

  “You agree to destroy all evidence, all documentation, every sample, every product, and anything else that can recreate these results now or in the future. We agree to hand you a check for five hundred billion dollars. As easy as that.”

  “How would that work?” Levi began calculating, considering the logistics of such a proposition. “That much money cannot just appear out of thin air. I’d go to prison, for Christ’s sake.”

  Oran chuckled. It infuriated Levi. It showed Oran had the upper hand. Not Levi. It was never Levi.

  “We have that covered, Mr. Farr.” Oran’s confidence was on full display. “We have recently developed an experimental drug, an Alzheimer’s treatment. Nothing novel, but it has potential. The application for clinical trials has not been filed at this point. We will tout this drug to the media as a miracle discovery and the first ever joint venture, spearheaded by the people in this room, to purchase the so-called ‘groundbreaking technology’ from none other than…”

  “Techyon,” Levi said.

  “Techyon.” Oran repeated. “Techyon gets the money and a little publicity on top of it. We’ll take a loss and issue a statement about how hopeful we were about the potential of the treatment and what a shame it was that it didn’t offer the miracle cure we had hoped for. Or something along those lines. The bottom line is that we will handle the minutiae, you handle your end of the deal. Can you do that?”

  During Oran’s diatribe, Levi had already decided. He had flipped a switch in his brain that toggled between doubt and complete resolve, as if the brittle switch had buckled under the immense weight of five hundred billion-dollar bills.

  “Yes. You have a deal.” Levi opened the packet of paperwork.

  “Good. But let us be clear,” Oran added, “this means all evidence. Including the kind that has a pulse. I know I don’t need to spell it out to you of all people, but are we clear on this point? Can you live with that? Having more blood on your hands?”

  Levi understood there was no choice to make. This wasn’t a request or a negotiation. These people had the resources to take him out. And anyone else that stood in their way. And knowing what he did now, there was no path backward. He was in it. Deep.

  Oran leaned in and peered into Levi’s eyes. “Can you?”

  “I can barely remember a time when my hands were clean.” Farr said. The callousness of the former soldier and mercenary bubbled from whatever shallow place it laid buried. His eyes deadened. “Consider it done.”

  “Good.” Oran stood up from the table. His four counterparts followed suit. Oran motioned to the three attorneys, who remained silent. “They’ll help you finalize everything. Good meeting you, Mr. Farr.”

  The five walked through the doors and barreled through the small reception area.

  Sebastian Roberts jumped in his seat at the abrupt entry of the herd. He raised his hand meekly as he stood. “Mr. Oran, I…” Oran passed by without a glance, followed by each of the other industry titans, and disappeared down the hallway.

  “Nice to meet you,” Roberts called out. He sat back down in his chair and clutched the portfolio, the most significant portfolio that existed, and waited.

  3

  Blake squeezed himself out of the rear door of the Suzuki hatchback and walked to the back of the car. The driver—who stood five-foot-two but wore a neon green traffic vest tha
t would have been big on Blake—had already started unloading his bags. The miniature car had been shrink-wrapped with Nike branding. Yellowed and peeling, the graphic obscured much of the rust and crinkled metal that riddled the old box of bolts. He wondered how much they had paid the guy to display the advertisement.

  Blake handed him one thousand rupees, the price he had negotiated at the start of the trip, plus an extra two hundred rupees for his effort. Stretching his back, he wished he had thrown in a few hundred extra to ride in the front seat.

  The driver got back in the car and moved forward in the line of taxis clogging up the drive that led to the principal building of the Tibhuvan International Airport. The building could have been mistaken for an office in a Delaware industrial park had it not been for the concrete control tower jutting out above it. It was a stop, but not the last, in his journey to nowhere.

  Blake headed to the main doors, dodging two motorbikes that were weaving through the vehicular traffic.

  Inside, Blake worked his way through the throngs to the ticket counter, the security checkpoint, and then the bag check. A worker directed him to throw his bags on a towering pile of multicolored duffels and backpacks. Blake ran through a mental checklist of the items in his bags and decided there was nothing in them that had any significant value to him. Monetary value, yes. But nothing that he couldn’t replace. He tossed the bags on the pile and continued toward the gate.

  Blake checked his watch. Ahead of schedule.

  He spotted an information desk with a few travelers lined up in front of it. He waited his turn and asked the attendant if Wi-Fi was available. The woman provided the password.

  Blake punched the password into his phone and connected. He found a seat and plopped down, his legs still sore from the final few days of hiking. The blisters that had formed during the first day had since ripped open and reopened in a daily torturous cycle. He thought about taking off his shoes but decided against it. It had annoyed him in the past when others did so in airports and planes.