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  FATAL SERUM

  FATAL SERUM

  THE TRUTH WILL PREVAIL

  SAM BLACK

  New York

  FATAL SERUM

  THE TRUTH WILL PREVAIL

  © 2015 SAM BLACK.

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other‚—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Published in New York, New York, by Morgan James Publishing. Morgan James and The Entrepreneurial Publisher are trademarks of Morgan James, LLC. www.MorganJamesPublishing.com

  The Morgan James Speakers Group can bring authors to your live event. For more information or to book an event visit The Morgan James Speakers Group at www.TheMorganJamesSpeakersGroup.com.

  ISBN 978-1-63047-339-6 paperback

  ISBN 978-1-63047-340-2 eBook

  ISBN 978-1-63047-341-9 hardcover

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2014943988

  Cover Design by:

  Rachel Lopez

  www.r2cdesign.com

  Interior Design by:

  Bonnie Bushman

  [email protected]

  In an effort to support local communities, raise awareness and funds, Morgan James Publishing donates a percentage of all book sales for the life of each book to Habitat for Humanity Peninsula and Greater Williamsburg.

  Get involved today, visit

  www.MorganJamesBuilds.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to local and to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  In memory of my mother and father, who worked very hard, but took the time to teach me the discipline to achieve my goals in life.

  Table Of Contents

  Prologue

  Part One

  Chapter 1October

  Chapter 2Five Minutes Later

  Chapter 3Three Hours Later

  Chapter 4The Same Day

  Chapter 5Ten Years Earlier

  Chapter 6The Investor

  Chapter 7October—The Next Day

  Chapter 8A Few Hours Later

  Chapter 9Twenty-Six Years Earlier—Mississippi

  Chapter 10March—The Previous Year

  Chapter 11Thursday Evening—New York City

  Chapter 12June—Washington D.c.

  Chapter 13October—Lake Champlain

  Chapter 14Father and Son

  Chapter 15October—24 Hours Later

  Chapter 16Three Years Ago—Macon, Georgia

  Chapter 17The Escape

  Chapter 18October 14Th—Twiggs County, Georgia

  Chapter 19Following the Escape

  Chapter 20Atlanta

  Chapter 21Somewhere in Tennessee

  Chapter 22Sleeping Together

  Chapter 23New Zealand—Eleven Years Earlier

  Chapter 24Inseparable

  Chapter 25Augusta—Eleven Years Ago

  Chapter 26September Wedding

  Chapter 27First Christmas

  Chapter 28October—Waking Up

  Chapter 29Chicago

  Chapter 30New Identities

  Chapter 31My Heart Froze

  Chapter 32Losing Self Control

  Chapter 33The Lady in Red

  Chapter 34October—Langley, Virginia

  Chapter 35On the Hot Seat

  Chapter 36Thirty Minutes Later

  Chapter 37The FBI is Here

  Chapter 38Meeting With The President

  Chapter 39The Journey

  Part Two

  Chapter 40New Zealand

  Chapter 41Third Day In New Zealand

  Chapter 42Two Hours Later

  Chapter 43Back At The Langham Hotel

  Chapter 44Where Am I?

  Chapter 45A Prayer Is Answered

  Chapter 46Meeting With The Enemy

  Chapter 47FBI Office—Washington D.c.

  Chapter 48Brewer and Kelly Meeting

  Chapter 49Breaking News

  Chapter 50The Stock Market

  Chapter 51Holloway’s Response

  Chapter 52FBI Headquarters—Washington Dc

  Chapter 53Operation Pinpoint

  Chapter 54On the Ground

  Chapter 55Ramstein Air Force Base

  Epilogue

  About The Author

  Acknowledgement

  Prologue

  Sam Abbott owns a manufacturing company which produces serums; one prevents contagious diseases; the other blocks the harmful effects of air pollution to our lungs and bronchial tubes. Drug companies throughout the world are trying to stop SAWWS Inc. because they are losing billions of dollars a year in prescriptions. Sam Abbott World Wide Serum Inc. saves thousands of lives each year.

  Sam married Jennifer Snowden ten years ago in a mid-American town. They had met in Taupo, New Zealand. She was on vacation; he was on business; both were eating in the same deli. Their eyes met, sparks flew, and Lake Taupo’s water temperature increased. People within five miles felt the heat. That same spark still exists.

  The Abbotts have no children, only a yellow Labrador, Rocky, who Jennifer had before she met Sam. Most of Jennifer’s love is directed toward Sam; whatever is left over goes to Rocky.

  The Abbotts live very conservatively in an old, but refurbished, two-hundred-year-old Southern plantation home, which sits on five hundred acres forty miles from Augusta, Georgia. The home shares the property with SAWWS Inc., as well as a 5,000 foot landing strip for their corporate jet.

  PART ONE

  Chapter 1

  OCTOBER

  I parked the Dodge Hemi in front of the house on our cobblestone, circular driveway. The sky shone blue as sea water, the air nippy. Autumn in Georgia is my favorite time of the year. I love the smell of pecan trees. When we arrive in New Zealand, we will be enjoying spring.

  I flung open the door. Our bags sat in the large foyer. “Jen, I’m home. I’ll put the bags in the truck.” No response. She must be upstairs. I grabbed the bags and tossed them in the bed of the truck, which had a roll top mounted.

  I ran back in the house. “Jen, are you ready?” No answer! “Jen!” I walked toward the large kitchen. My heart picked up the pace. “Jen, where are you?” SAWWS’s laboratory is the cleanest manmade thing in the USA and Jen’s kitchen is next. “Jen, Jen where are you?” My eyes searched, my throat became raw. I went to the foot of the stairs. “Jen, Jen are you up there?”

  I screamed, “Jen! Jen!” I started running through the house. Panic entered the inside of my body causing my skin to chill and a numbness flowed throughout. I covered all four thousand square feet downstairs, my heart racing. She had to be here. I just-I just talked to her. “Jen!” I screamed. I listened—nothing, only the grandfather clock in the den and the pounding of my heart. Where the hell is Rocky? “Rocky. Rocky, where are you?”

  I ran upstairs, three steps at a time. “Jen! Jen, we have to go. Jen, where are you?” The eight rooms were empty, except for the furniture. Everything was neatly in its place. My heart pounded harder. She has to be here. She has to be here. “Jennifer, please, Jennifer, where are you?”

  I ran down the staircase three and four steps at a time, almost stumbling half way down. I headed toward the basement door. “Jennifer” My eyes burned. “Jennifer, are you down there?” No answer. I raced down the basement stairs. The basement was unfinished, dark, and held no answer. My heart stopped. I had exhausted my search.

  The garage, I forgot the garage. She must be in the garage. I ran up the basement stairs, through the kitchen to the garage door, flung it o
pen and gasped. My lungs were out of air. I couldn’t breathe. “What’s that smell?” My ears were burning. “Oh, my God, Rocky, Rocky, what the hell.” I fell to my knees. He was stretched out on the concrete floor, blood oozing from his nose. No pulse. Rocky was Jen’s second love. I searched the entire three-car garage. Jennifer was nowhere to be found.

  I ran and stumbled toward one of the six security phones in the house, picked up the receiver and dialed 10, which would alert all security personnel. All I needed to do was dial the number ten and hang up. You talk to no one. My knees started shaking. Someone would be here in less than a minute. The others would be on site within an hour. A chopper would be in the air within ten minutes. The FBI and the CIA would be calling within five minutes. I slumped into the overstuffed chair. The entire five hundred acres would be on lockdown within six minutes. No one enters or leaves until cleared by security and everything and everyone gets checked out.

  I sat with my head in my sweaty hands tracing back from the time just before I left the office.

  I walked out of my office at two thirty Friday afternoon. I gave my last list of important things that needed attention to my secretary, Virginia. She already had three other lists. Virginia has been with me since I started this company eight years ago. I couldn’t function, nor would the company, without her.

  “Gin,” that’s what I call her. “I need for you to pay close attention to the China Company. The one I can never pronounce.”

  She looked up at me and smiled, “Chineewongsee.”

  Chineewongsee, a large Chinese company, is trying to produce a product similar to ours. They have yet to market it. Her smile and her annunciation of the company name set me at ease. If I died tomorrow, she would be able to run SAWWS Inc.

  Virginia stands six feet and has a body most women would die for. She just turned forty five last month. Her short red hair, full lips, hazel eyes, freckles sprinkled across her nose and high cheek bones give her the radiance to melt any man. Her husband was killed in a one-car accident eighteen months ago. The cause of the accident was never determined. Virginia has one married son, Kevin, who lives in Sacramento, CA.

  She stood, opened her arms, and I leaned in for a hug that lasted longer than most hugs from your secretary should, unless you were having an affair with them. Not the case here. Gin and I see each other and converse more than my wife, Jennifer, and I do. Virginia will run SAWWS Inc. for twenty one days while Jennifer and I take a much-needed vacation to New Zealand.

  Our eyes watered. We stared at each other for several seconds before she spoke. “Sam, you and Jen have a wonderful time. God knows, you both deserve the time away.” She glanced at her diamond studded Rolex watch I had given her after completing five years of giving over 100%. “Sam, you’d better get out of here or you’ll miss your plane in Atlanta.”

  I put my hand on her shoulder and replied, “Call me if somebody offers us anything over two hundred billion for SAWWS.” I smiled.

  “Give my best to Jen.” Her smile was genuine.

  I took the elevator up one floor to my white Dodge 1500. A Hemi engine sat under its hood. Once I started the big engine and was backing out of the parking space, I dialed Jennifer, or Jen as I call her, on my cell phone. This will be our first vacation since our honeymoon. Shame on me—I never took the time.

  Jen has been the main artery to our marriage. She always keeps me pumped. She never runs out of energy. Her love runs through my veins every second of everyday. I could never manage without her.

  The ramp leading outside from the parking garage is nestled between rows of Georgia pines that reach sixty feet high. From the air, the five hundred acres look like a large mansion, beautifully landscaped, with a five-thousand foot landing strip and a fifty-foot hangar. The hangar houses the corporate jet.

  Jen answered on the first ring. The portable phone she held had caller ID.

  “Sam, Sam, I’m so excited.”

  “Jen, I’m sorry I’m late.” I hated being late for anything.

  “We’ll have plenty of time. I’ve double checked everything.”

  “Did you pack my Smith @ Wesson, 357?” My life has been threatened too many times.

  “Yes, Sam. I broke it down and placed it in the black, leather bag that I bought you for Christmas last year. I also put in a box of ammo.”

  “Great! I’ll be there in a flash.”

  “See ya, Sam.”

  “See ya!” The needle on the dash bounced on sixty. I’d be there in forty-nine seconds. I checked my Swiss watch; it was two-thirty-nine.

  The plant is secured better than Fort Knox. It has two, eighteen-foot high, perimeter fences made of one-inch steel rods, with ten-inch square cement columns every four feet. Twelve, one-inch steel rods run vertically and horizontally in every cement column, which are buried eight feet in the Georgia clay. There is a twenty foot span between the two fences. It would take several days for a bulldozer to gain entrance. There are 65 security cameras taking pictures every fifteen seconds, which are monitored by forty-three, well-trained security people, who protect both the inside and outside, twenty-four seven.

  The plant, located below ground, has twenty-six inches of rebar and concrete protecting its top. Below the rebar and concrete rests the employee parking garage. Below the parking garage sits the plant and offices. The plant and the offices are supplied with clean Georgia air, pumped in by three generators. In the event of a power failure, SAWWS has two back-up generators large enough to produce enough candle power to run the plant and the air generators for forty-eight hours. SAWWS is a bomb shelter, camouflaged with pecan trees, a vegetable garden and Jen’s flower garden. Her flower garden is comprised of mostly orchids of every species, roses, and a vast variety of other exotic flowers, some of which I can’t pronounce. The remainder is a large vegetable garden that the one-hundred-sixty-eight employees tend to and harvest each year for themselves.

  The corporation has two pilots, who are on call, twenty-four seven. They are paid very well, whether they’re sitting in the cockpit or in a bass boat on Oconee Lake, a few miles away. They had flown over a hundred sorties each during the Iraqi War.

  Chapter 2

  FIVE MINUTES LATER

  My hands trembled, my eyes burned and my heart raced. I shook my head in disbelief. I just talked to her less than a minute from the time I opened the front door. “Shit!” I lifted my hands from the counter top. “I can’t touch anything. They will need fingerprints.” My voice echoed throughout the large, empty kitchen.

  My security people will have an answer when they get here. “Where the hell are my security people?” The security phone registered the time lapse as sixty-nine seconds since I had dialed.

  Five minutes passed from the time I had dialed 10. My heart was in my throat. “What the hell is wrong?” I ran to the front door, looked up in the sky and heard nothing. You could hear a chopper anywhere above the five hundred acres. The air was still. My chest felt like it would explode.

  I looked at my Swiss watch. “Why hasn’t the FBI or the CIA called me?” I felt nauseous. I went to the red phone in the kitchen and picked it up. A dial tone showered my right ear. I dialed 10 again. My head, working overtime, tried to piece this mystery together. She has to be on this property. You can’t get out—lockdown. “My God, what have they done with her? Who are they: the Chinese, one of our drug companies, a foreign company? Shit, why didn’t I get here a minute earlier?” My eyes filled with regret, fear, and hate.

  Two more minutes went by and no call, no chopper, and no security. I ran to my Hemi, started the engine, laid rubber out of the driveway and looked at the sky for a chopper. I saw nothing but blue sky looking down at me.

  I drove to the main entrance, the only entrance to SAWWS. I got to within three hundred feet and things became worse. The main entrance was unsecured. My throat burned; my tongue became thick and dry. I reached for my cell phone and called Gin. NO SERVICE. “What the hell? What is happening?”

  My legs
trembled and stiffness shot over my entire body. I managed to brake in time before running into the gate. I leaped out of the Dodge and touched the locked gate with my fingers. The gate was secure, but no one was around.

  I jumped back into my Hemi and raced to the plant’s main entrance. I pushed the security code to open the garage doors to the parking garage. Nothing happened. The code wouldn’t open the doors. I punched it again: nothing. Security was still intact; the electric was still on; the lights on the security panel were lit. “What the hell?”

  I raced back to the house. I had left the front door open. I took my cell phone from my breast pocket of my sport coat and threw the coat on a chair in the kitchen. I dialed 911. NO SERVICE. I picked up the land line. It was dead. “Hell, I’m trapped in my own multi-million dollar, sophisticated security system.”

  I looked at my watch. “The jet—why didn’t I think about the jet?” I ran to the Hemi, slammed the gear shift into drive and screamed away toward the hangar. I have a pilot’s license, but haven’t flown solo in several years. The hangar doors were closed. My body was still numb. My head throbbed. Jim and Randy, the Company’s two pilots, were not there. The hangar doors were locked. I reached in the glove box in the cab of the Hemi and pressed the garage door opener to the hangar, my eyes glued to the doors that weren’t moving. “Shit”

  I could hardly breathe. I raced back to the house and ran inside. The lights were off on the micro oven. I quickly flipped the light switch: no lights. “What the hell?” The generator, the generator was in the garage.

  I opened the garage door; it was pitch black. Walking slowly toward the overhead doors, I shuffled my feet, afraid I’d step on Rocky. Reaching the overhead door, I felt the lever to unlatch the door and pulled on it. The late afternoon sunshine streamed in through the raised door. I turned and our two cars, Jen’s yellow Corvette and my black 450 Mercedes, were sitting side by side.

  I moved quickly toward the generator. It had a twenty horsepower, Honda engine which could generate enough electricity to run every light in the house, along with all the appliances. The gas tank, with a 6.9 capacity, was full. I had a thirty gallon reserve tank.