Commandadmin at 08:27, 24 January 2025

2025-01-24T08:27:58Z

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	{{EnemyMe\|title=Chapter ~~Eleven~~\|chapter text=<center>Chapter 12</center><br>		{{EnemyMe\|title=Chapter Twelve\|chapter text=<center>Chapter 12</center><br>
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	Rick stepped into the office and walked to his desk. Barbara bit her bottom lip and looked distressed. She shook her head the moment she saw him. ‘Oh, shit!’ “Barb, what?”<br>		Rick stepped into the office and walked to his desk. Barbara bit her bottom lip and looked distressed. She shook her head the moment she saw him. ‘Oh, shit!’ “Barb, what?”<br>

Commandadmin: Created page with "{{EnemyMe|title=Chapter Eleven|chapter text=Chapter 12

Rick stepped into the office and walked to his desk. Barbara bit her bottom lip and looked distressed. She shook her head the moment she saw him. ‘Oh, shit!’ “Barb, what?”
She handed him a printout.
He scanned the paper. “Fuck! Seriously!”
“Seriously.”
“No no no no! This is total bullshit! No no no no! I can’t believe this. No no no no!” He crushed the p..."

2025-01-24T08:27:28Z

Created page with "{{EnemyMe|title=Chapter Eleven|chapter text=<center>Chapter 12</center> Rick stepped into the office and walked to his desk. Barbara bit her bottom lip and looked distressed. She shook her head the moment she saw him. ‘Oh, shit!’ “Barb, what?” She handed him a printout. He scanned the paper. “Fuck! Seriously!” “Seriously.” “No no no no! This is total bullshit! No no no no! I can’t believe this. No no no no!” He crushed the p..."

New page

{{EnemyMe|title=Chapter Eleven|chapter text=<center>Chapter 12</center> 
 
Rick stepped into the office and walked to his desk. Barbara bit her bottom lip and looked distressed. She shook her head the moment she saw him. ‘Oh, shit!’ “Barb, what?” 
She handed him a printout. 
He scanned the paper. “Fuck! Seriously!” 
“Seriously.” 
“No no no no! This is total bullshit! No no no no! I can’t believe this. No no no no!” He crushed the printout under his clenched hand and stomped out the door to the elevators. 
Barbara followed. “What are you going to do?” 
“Blow off some steam. I can’t believe this!” 
The elevator door opened and he walked in before anyone had a chance to exit. He heard someone leaving the elevator say, “Dumbass. Straight up cracked dumbass.” He ignored them. “Research,” he spoke out loud. 
Barbara jumped in just before the doors closed. 
The two rode the elevator the short distance in silence. The doors opened and Rick stomped out. He headed to Lab 51. Thompson, Anosov, and Smekhov were there waiting for him. 
“Thompson, what the hell?” 
The three, in unison, said, “We have something more serious to worry about.” 
Rick’s head snapped back, “WTF! Stop this spooky shit. It creeps me and everyone out.” 
The three said, “We cannot. This is what we are. This is what we do.” 
Thompson began, “We are . . .” 
Anosov continued, “. . . of the . . .” 
Smekhov finished, “. . . body and mind.” 
Rick’s face turned deep red. “I don’t have time for this bullshit. What happened with the tests?” 
The three said, “You better make time if you want answers.” The resonating discord sounded chalkboard scratchy. 
Rick tried to stare the three down. 
Then, in unison, “Do not believe what you hold in your hand. Calm down, follow us, and learn the truth. Our way or leave and be clueless.”
Thompson turned and started walking, Anosov followed close, with Smekhov taking up the rear. Rick and Barbara followed all three into Thompson’s office. Once inside, Thompson motioned for everyone to sit around a conference table. The surface of the table was a black smooth reflection of touch screen. He stepped over to his desk and picked up a black sphere the size of his fist. He placed it in the center of the table as he sat down in one of the empty chairs. He waved his right-hand inches above the surface and edge nearest him. The lights dimmed. 
A double helix appeared in midair. Parts of it were missing. Other parts were coded red. 
 
“Is that the bomber’s DNA?” Rick asked. 
Thompson waved his hand and rapidly spread his fingers apart. The image focused on a line of text in the relative right corner. It read, ‘DNA corrupted. Person unknown. Markers destroyed.’ 
Rick exclaimed, “WTF!” 
Thompson swept his hand across the image several times. Each new image had the same text. ‘Markers destroyed.’ 
Rick’s depression deepened with each hand swipe. He shook his head. The best piece of evidence they had. Gone. 
Thompson said, “Detective. You haven’t been paying attention, have you?” 
Rick looked up. “What do you mean?” 
Thompson stared him in the eye. “We went through all that theatrics not to have you sit teary eyed in full denial of nothing real.” 
“I’m not tracking.” 
In unison the three said, “He is not tracking.” 
“Can you cut that out? Please?” 
In unison, “Do it our way or get out. Our job is done. We can go home now.” 
Rick opened his mouth several times, only to shut it several more times. He looked over to Barbara for support. 
She shrugged. 
After a moment he visibly relaxed and seemed to accept what was thrown his way. “I give. Continue, please.” 
The three said, “Finally, he understands.” 
Rick cringed. The shit these guys do. He heard how creepy they could be, but to witness it first hand? 
“Pay attention, please!” A disjointed chorus exclaimed. 
Rick flinched. 
Thompson said, “Yes, the DNA had been corrupted, but not by the explosion.” 
Rick frowned. 
Thompson said, “We have a saboteur.” 
Anosov repeated, “. . . saboteur. . .” 
Smekhov ended, “. . . saboteur.” 
Rick shook his head, “You guys are sick. Sick I say!” 
Thompson replied, “That may be so, but here you are . . . basking in it.” 
All three smiled teeth. 
The hair at the back of Rick’s neck stiffened and a cold chill traveled the length of his spine. 
Thompson continued, “We know who the bomber is . . . was. But the disturbing fact that all, and I mean all, our data had been corrupted points to one thing.” 
“And that is?” Rick asked. 
All three said in unison, “Trust no one . . . except us.” All three smiled again. 
Barbara smiled. She did like the three, intensely odd at times, but likeable none the less. 
“Two questions then,” Rick began. “Whose DNA was it and who is the saboteur?” 
All three shrugged, “We don’t know who the saboteur is . . . yet.” 
Thompson said, “But the DNA . . .” 
Anosov continued,” . . . belongs to . . .” 
Smekhov finished, “. . . Pete Walker.” 
Rick exhaled loudly, “I knew it!” 
Thompson added, “Mostly.” 
“Wait, what?” Rick responded. 
Smekhov added, “Most of the DNA matches Pete Walker, but there are some differences.” 
Barbara said, “Like?” 
Anosov said, “Of course, this can’t be Pete Walker. He died decades ago. So the conclusion was the bomber had to be a clone.” 
Smekhov continued, “But judging from the variation we discovered this individual could legally be classified as related.” 
Rick thought on that. “Like brothers?” 
All three nodded. 
Barbara asked, “Could there be more?” 
All three nodded. “No reason there shouldn’t be.” 
Thompson suddenly looked serious, “Detectives, this is a game changer. This Pete Walker . . .” He pointed to the DNA strand floating above the table, “. . . is a way to get around the law. The variation is just that different enough.” 
“Is there anything you can give us to find who made this Pete Walker?” Rick asked. 
All three smiled. The effect was scary. 
Thompson said, “You gotta love DNA and the odd nature of explosives.” 
Rick asked, “How so?” 
“We know the other Walker had a backpack on . . .” 
Rick nodded. Some of the photo feeds showed that. 
“. . . and not all backpacks are created equal.” 
Rick nodded again. 
“Because of that we got DNA from all sorts of items. Other Walker used Pent, but the pack had a ceramic back plate.” 
Rick said, “Okay . . . and?” 
All three said, “We are pretty certain the contents on one of the ceramic fragments is from Other Walker’s stomach.” 
They let the silence linger. 
Barbara thought a moment, then suddenly blurted out, “You know what he ate?” 
All three said, “About 60% certain. A ChemAY got us all the ingredients, but it was . . .” 
Smekhov said, “. . . I . . .” 
The three continued, “. . . who got the connection.” 
Rick frowned. “What connection? How the ingredients are combined?” 
She nodded and answered, “A few months ago I started cataloging DNA/Seasoning combinations from prepared foods in restaurants.” 
“We’d know what he had for his last meal and who made it?” 
“Exactly. Dirk had been working a case, which stalled for a few weeks. We knew what the victim ate, but not where. It was a question of whether this particular meal was from a restaurant or prepared at someone’s home. I visited about 60 restaurants within a five kilometer radius of the crime scene. I had another 100 to go when we got a hit. Dirk got a new led and within a week arrested the mother. She lied about cooking the meal.” 
Barbara said, “Amazing.” 
Smekhov nodded. “It was. I finished cataloging the other 100 and started working out from the station. I had put in a dozen food combos from a local diner. Within two hours I got a hit.” 
Rick perked up. “Okay then. What did he eat?” 
“A Pastrami on Baguette. Mayonnaise and yellow mustard. Fried yam chips with ranch. He had a Bell’s.’ 
“That sounds familiar. What diner?” 
All three said in unison, “The Lo’tion.” 
Rick and Barbara stared at one another for several heart beats. Both laughed. A few seconds later the three joined in. They had a face and knew where he had his last meal. Rick thought, ‘They can continue their creepy shit.’ His eyes welled up with tears. Best news. Ever. 

 
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Enemy Chapter Twelve - Revision history

Commandadmin at 08:27, 24 January 2025