The Nemesis Cell E-Book

Brian L. Porter

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

A group of women gather at a fertility clinic, where Dr. Margherita Dumas offers a revolutionary treatment for their infertility problems. A year later, each of them gives birth to a healthy baby boy.

Thirty years later, a killer begins to wipe out the children born as a result of Dumas’ programme. Detective Inspector Harry Houston is assigned to piece together the case and bring the killer to justice.

But with little time and even less clues, can Harry and his team find the link between the past and the deaths of the progeny of Clinique Sobel?

Leseprobe

The Nemesis Cell

Brian L Porter

Copyright (C) 2014 Brian L Porter

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2019 by Next Chapter

Published 2019 by Next Chapter

Cover art by Cover Mint

No part of this book maybe reproduced in any format except in brief quotations for review purposes without written request and consent from the publisher.

This a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual people, places or events is purely coincidental.

Dedication

The Nemesis Cell is dedicated to the memory of my mother, Enid Ann Porter (1914 – 2004), whose love and support never failed me, and to my wife, Juliet, who supplies those commodities in our everyday lives together.

By the Same Author

A Study in Red – The Secret Journal of Jack the Ripper (Winner, The Preditors & Editors Best Thriller Novel Award, 2008)Legacy of the RipperRequiem for the RipperPestilenceBehind Closed DoorsGlastonburyPurple DeathAvenue of the DeadKiss of Life

Novelette

Dracula Doesn't Live Here Anymore

Short Story Collections

The Voice of Anton BouchardA Binary Convergence (with Graeme S Houston)

As Harry Porter

Tilly's TaleDylan's TaleWolfAlistair the Alligator

Acknowledgements

The Nemesis Cell began life as a short story. One of the first to read it, Sheila Noakes, enjoyed it so much she wanted to know more about the characters, and encouraged me to develop the story into a full-length novel. Writing the longer version has proved to be an enjoyable experience, for which my thanks go to Sheila. She has also read each chapter as it has been completed to ensure that the new version lost none of the attraction she felt for the original short story.

The character of Harry Houston is based largely on the help and information provided to me by Detective Chief Inspector David Moffat of the Scottish Police College at Tulliallan in Fife. His assistance has been invaluable in developing Harry Houston as a person and as a police officer.

Malcolm Davies has read and re-read The Nemesis Cell so many times he probably knows it better than I, and I thank him for his time and efforts in ensuring that the story remained fluent and concise.

To Graeme S. Houston I owe my thanks for his superb cover designs for both the e-book and the paperback versions of the book, and his encouragement along the way. For finding a home for the print version, my gratitude goes to my agent Aidana.

Finally, as always, my thanks go to my dear wife Juliet, for her patience and her support through the long hours she has sat alone listening to the sound of my fingers upon the keyboard. Her honest criticisms help keep my writing on the straight and narrow.

PART I - A NEW GENESIS

Prologue

Spring 1974, Ostend, Belgium

The woman screamed, a primeval howl that represented the unchanging nature of humanity's physical continuance through the ages. Though she'd promised herself she wouldn't no matter how great the pain, she had finally given in to the most natural urge associated with the birth of a child, and, at the moment the head finally forced its way from the birth canal and made its way slowly into the world, her body could take no more. She'd heard that scream so many times in the past, from others in the same position, and had thought those women weak and incapable of self-control. Now, she knew better.

The man in the white coat whose hand she gripped tightly spoke gently to her, reassuring, coaxing. “It won't be long now, it will soon be over, and all will be well.”

She was sweating; her legs ached from being held apart for so long by the stirrups. He'd insisted on them, in case he needed to take immediate action if complications developed, and her back felt as though it would never again be free of pain. Over and over in her head she asked herself if anything was worth the pains and the humiliating exposure she was enduring, and over and again the answer came back to her. Of course it was!

As the man had promised, it was soon over. The pain gradually subsided, and the woman, free at last of the weight she'd carried within her womb for so many months, and with the pain of childbirth receding into memory, slept. The man sat watching her contentedly, knowing that between them, they had achieved something special, perhaps as all men who witness the birth of a child feel, though this was more than special, and he knew it. He had no idea of what the future might have in store for any of them, but for now, he basked in the glow of success as he watched the sleeping woman's breasts heave gently beneath the thin gown as she breathed rhythmically in her deep, well deserved sleep.

Darkness fell over the small isolated cottage, the sound of the ocean waves breaking on the nearby beach. The man checked one last time that his charges were happily sleeping, and as a combined sense of relief and elation crept over him, he finally succumbed to the tiredness in his limbs, his eyes slowly closed, and he too drifted into a peaceful sleep. There was much work to do; it would take time, patience, and much trial and error. But that could wait until tomorrow.

Chapter One

Turin, April 1976

The news from around the world had hardly been good. On the 2nd April of that year, Prince Sihanouk of Cambodia stepped down as monarch of his country in the face of the rising tide of communism that had taken hold of the land, to be replaced by Pol Pot, who became Prime Minister, and virtual dictator of that beleaguered nation. Few people could have envisaged at that point the holocaust that would soon sweep across Cambodia, killing millions and bringing fear, degradation, and sweeping poverty to almost all who dwelt within Pol Pot's evil sphere of influence.

Whilst the happenings in South-East Asia were serving to make headlines around the world, news of lesser global proportions but of intense personal importance were the chief topic of speculation at the home of Antonio and Lucia Cannavaro, where news of paramount importance had arrived.

“The letter, Antonio, I've got the letter, from the clinic. I've been accepted!”

“Cara, cara, I'm so happy for you, for us, my beautiful wife. Maybe now we will be able to have the family we have longed for.”

“Yes, my husband, and they will pay us well for allowing me to let them use their new methods upon me.”

“As long as it is safe, then I am happy, my darling. Please, may I see the letter?”

Lucia passed the letter to her husband, who began to read.

The Clinique Sobel

Brussels

28thMarch 1976

[phone]

Dear Signora Cannavaro,

I am delighted to inform you that, following your application to the clinic, and the subsequent results of the tests carried out by our representative in Turin, it has been decided to offer you a place on our experimental infertility treatment programme.

As was made clear at your local interview, you will be required to spend a period of two months with us, during which time we will apply a revolutionary technique developed by our medical team to bring an end to your infertility and hopefully to ensure that you and your husband will be blessed with a child of your own in the near future.

At the end of your time here, you will be paid the agreed sum of two thousand dollars to recompense you for the time you will spend here and to compensate for the separation from your husband.

At all times during your stay here, we will adhere to safe medical practices and you will at no time be in any danger of harm. As was also pointed out to you at your interview, however, the practices we employ are revolutionary in the field of medicine, and it is necessary that you do not reveal your participation in these trials to anyone outside of your immediate family, and preferably then only to your husband.

Your failure to adhere to these conditions will invalidate this offer to participate, and your place will be offered to some other fortunate lady.

Please be kind enough to telephone the above number at your earliest convenience to confirm your acceptance of this offer, and please follow this with your signed acceptance.

Congratulations once again on your success, and I shall look forward to making your acquaintance when we see you at the clinic on May 1st.

Yours sincerely

Charles DeVries

Dr. Charles DeVries

Administrator

Antonio and Lucia danced around their tiny apartment together. They were far from wealthy, Antonio making just enough for them to live on from his job as a motor mechanic at the small service garage down the street. He and Lucia had been trying for a baby since they were married three years ago. Tests had shown her to be highly unlikely ever to conceive naturally because she had a small blockage in her fallopian tubes. Further, Antonio had been found to have a very low sperm count, so their chances of a natural conception were minimal.

The tiny advertisement in the local newspaper had seemed like a message from God to Lucia. The new clinic had recently opened its doors to the public, and they were seeking women with clinically diagnosed infertility to take part in trials of their new treatments for the problem. They promised a high chance of success, and even to pay those accepted for their time.

Lucia had been delighted to be invited to the office of a local doctor who had been appointed by the clinic to ascertain her suitability for the project, and had attended all the necessary and at times invasive tests required by the clinic. The doctor had sent his report to the clinic and now she had the letter, and she was happy, happier than she'd felt for a long time. Antonio shared in that happiness with his wife, dancing once more round the tiny, cramped living room of their one-bed apartment, where they both hoped soon to hear the sound of a baby's voice to join with their own.

“We shall have to buy you some new clothes for the journey, and for your stay in Belgium,” said Antonio.

“We cannot afford such extravagance, Antonio,” replied his wife. “We must save our money for the time when the baby comes.”

“If it is a success,” Antonio cautioned her, trying to be realistic about their chances.

“Oh, it will be, my darling, I just know it will be,” she replied.

Over the next week, other couples across Europe and in the United States received similar letters of acceptance, and the delight of the young Italian couple was reflected in the joy and the excitement experienced by those fortunate enough to have been selected. At that moment, Doctor Charles DeVries, administrator of the pioneering new infertility clinic set in the heart of one of Europe's oldest cities, could have asked for and been granted anything in their power to give by those young people, such was their gratitude at receiving this opportunity to become parents.

They of course couldn't know that DeVries himself would have little or no part to play in the actual treatment they received at the clinic. He was after all just the administrator of the facility, but he did enjoy being the public face of the clinic, and he worked hard to cultivate his image as the benign and caring father figure of the establishment. Every visitor to the facility commented on his ability to put the most nervous of patients quickly at ease.

In a matter of weeks, women from around the globe began their journeys, by air, by sea, and by train to the revolutionary new clinic, where for all of them the one hope was to see their dreams of motherhood being turned into reality.

Chapter Two

The woman gazed down at the two toddlers happily playing on the floor in front of her. The two boys were perfect, almost too perfect, she thought. It was so hard to distinguish them from one another. Never had there been such twins, she thought to herself, and she had carried them within her body, had given birth to them, and now she was responsible for every minute of their daily lives. They loved her, they depended on her, they interacted with her in a way she would never have thought possible at one time in her life. They had begun to talk a few months ago, and both had the ability to walk unaided for quite a number of steps. She was proud of their progress. They had lively, active minds, as she'd always known they would have. After all, one need look no further than the man who sat in the office on the other side of the playroom wall, the man who had been by her side through the whole process, who had held her hand as she gave birth to the boys, and whose blood and genetic makeup flowed in the veins of the two boys upon whom so many futures now depended. His mind had been a part of the blueprint that had made them.

The door to the playroom opened, and the white-coated man entered and walked across, then positioned himself on the sofa next to her.

“They look well,” he said, with a knowing smile on his face.

“Of course they're well, they're always well, aren't you, boys?” she replied, voicing the purely rhetorical question in the direction of the two playing children who patently were not about to provide an answer.

“Is everything going according to your childrearing programme?” asked the man.

“You make it sound so clinical,” she responded.

“Isn't that what you are, a clinician, and one of the best in your field, I might add?”

“Yes, of course. It's just that they have no real conception of how important they are to me, or to you.”

“One day they will know, and they will be proud of their heritage, their upbringing, their lineage.”

The woman appeared to lapse into deep thought for a minute or so, and then she rose from the sofa and beckoned the man to follow her. As they retreated to the far side of the room, the twins rose in perfect unison, steadied themselves on their young legs, and began to walk slowly but surely, with an assurance rare for such youngsters, towards the couple. As they neared the smiling couple, the boys reached out with their hands. First the man, and then the woman responded in kind. The two boys took the hands of the adults, who led them into another child-oriented, cheerfully decorated room where the boys were soon sleeping peacefully under the warm coverings of their purpose-built beds, which were fitted with an array of monitoring equipment. It was time for their afternoon nap.

After ensuring that the boys were safely asleep and that the cameras that recorded their every movement were switched on and operating correctly, the man and woman left the room, retraced their steps across the pastel blue carpet of the playroom, and made their way into the office which lay on the other side of the wall.

The man stood for a long time gazing out of the office window, as the woman sat making notes at the desk. He watched a family of blackbirds as they fed upon the lawn, mother, father and two fledglings hunting for juicy worms. Next came a squirrel as it ran down the trunk of the tall tree in middle of the lawn, anxious to find a new source of food and return to its secret hideaway.

The man was lucky to enjoy such sights, for the office window was perfectly positioned to observe the small wonders of nature that were regularly taking place in the expansive garden outside. In sharp contrast to his panoramic view, in the beautifully decorated, centrally heated bedroom to which the twins had just been led, and in the superbly equipped and well-lit playroom he and the woman had just left, there were no windows at all.

Chapter Three

Brussels, May 1st1976

“Welcome, ladies, I bid you welcome. My name is Doctor Charles DeVries, and it is my pleasure on behalf of all the doctors and staff here at the clinic to wish you all a happy stay in our facility and an even happier future upon leaving us. If you will all please give your first names to Angelique here at the desk, one at a time please, she will allocate your rooms to you and you will be shown to them directly. Remember, first names only, please, ladies. We like to preserve our clients' privacy here at the clinic, even from one another, so we make it a condition of your stay here that you only use your first names when conversing with each other. No surnames here please, ladies, ever!”

This last was delivered with such force and conviction that some of the women assembled in the foyer of the clinic that day felt as though they'd just entered some kind of strange military boot camp and that they were being addressed by the sergeant major of the rookie platoon, rather than being checked into a fertility clinic on the outskirts of the beautiful city of Brussels by the otherwise charming and extremely handsome Dr. Charles DeVries.

Each of the six women present in the spacious, brightly lit reception area of the clinic had arrived that day, according to pre-arranged instructions from Dr. DeVries. Some had arrived in Belgium, one, two, or three days ago, but had arranged accommodation in various hotels until the time had come for them to report to the clinic. It was certain that every one of them had been impressed as their respective taxis had carried them from the small local station on the outskirts of the city to their destination, and they'd observed the broad sweeping lawns of the facility as they drove up the twisting gravelled drive, which crunched satisfyingly under the tyres of the cab. The gardens bordering the lawns were lush and beautifully landscaped, with a dazzling array of flowers of every imaginable hue set in the expansive borders, a true delight to behold.

Everything about the approach to the clinic spoke of peace and serenity, of harmony, and of a place to relax, take things easy, and enjoy. There were other women already at the clinic. The new arrivals saw them taking walks in the grounds and enjoying the spring sunshine, seemingly without a care in the world. This was truly set up to be a haven of tranquillity, a place where they could forget the pressures of home, and concentrate on the one thing that mattered most to them at this time in their lives. It would be true to say that each of those six women felt as though she had arrived at a crossroads in her life, and that the new direction she was about to take would shape a whole new optimistic future for her and the baby she hoped would be hers before too long.

Lucia Cannavaro was the first of the women to reach the reception desk, her Latin temperament causing her to rush to be 'numero uno' when it came to checking in and being allocated her room. It wasn't rudeness, but it was Italian-ness!

“My name is Lucia,” she stated clearly to Angelique, the receptionist, sticking strictly to the first name rule.

“Ah, yes, Lucia, you are in the Blenheim Wing, room number four,” said Angelique, after checking a list on the desk in front of her. Aged about twenty-four, with blonde hair cut to her shoulders, Angelique was a highly professional medical receptionist. She was also a registered nurse, as was evidenced by the shoulder flashes on her crisp, white uniform, and the badge identifying her nursing orders stitched to her dress above the left breast pocket, from which a number of pens and a mini-torch projected, all neatly arrayed like soldiers in a row.

“Please take a seat, Lucia, and when I have allocated rooms to all of the other ladies, I will have each of you escorted to your accommodations.”

Lucia did as she was bid and settled herself into one of the comfortable armchairs which were placed strategically around the reception area as Angelique efficiently continued her work with the others. As she waited, she listened as the other women identified themselves to the receptionist:

“Katerina,” said the first, in an accent Lucia couldn't place, followed by “My name is Theresa,” this time in an unmistakeable Irish accent.

Angelique wasted no time in assigning the two women to rooms one and three, in the same wing as Lucia. It transpired that all the women would be housed in the clinic's Blenheim Wing, this being reserved for those undergoing the newest experimental treatments and procedures.

Katerina and Theresa soon joined Lucia in the waiting armchairs, as first an American named Tilly, then an English woman by the name of Elizabeth and a Slavic-looking girl who went by the name of Christa each registered themselves with Angelique and were allocated their rooms. It seemed that each woman would have a private room during their stay at the clinic, as Dr. DeVries quickly explained that it was necessary for certain procedures to be carried out which needed privacy, and it was thought that the clients at the clinic would feel more at home if the procedures were carried out in the more homely confines of their accommodations rather than in the more clinical conditions of the laboratories or treatment rooms as used for some of the more routine fertility treatments on offer at the facility. Each and every room, he stated, was fitted with all the medical machinery and equipment necessary to carry out every aspect of their treatments, and if it weren't for the need for fresh air and exercise, they could actually spend their whole time at the clinic in their rooms, without ever seeing the daylight, though, as he laughingly pointed out, that would be like a prison sentence, and not at all what they had come for.

Some of the women giggled nervously at his words. Some, Lucia included, felt a slight shiver of trepidation as he spoke, as though the good doctor was not quite as convincing as he could have been. As soon as Angelique had finished with Christa, she pressed a button on her desk. A minute later, as if by magic, a door in the panelling behind her slid open and a man in white jacket and trousers appeared. The automatic door had opened in such silence that his entrance took them all by surprise, and drew one or two gasps from the waiting women.

“Automation, the technology of the future, ladies,” said DeVries, sensing their incredulity.

Of course, today we accept automatic sliding doors as an everyday appliance as we enter shops or offices, but, back in 1976, such things were a novelty, and usually confined in most peoples' minds to those scenes in Star Trek where the Captain or crew member approached a solid wall which suddenly sprang open with a whoosh to allow access to the bridge or another deck of the Starship Enterprise. The small group of women viewed the revelation of the automatic doors as though they were indeed entering the realm of science fiction.

The young man, who introduced himself as Marc, was no Captain Kirk, but was in fact the medical orderly in charge of escorting the women to their rooms in the Blenheim wing. DeVries spoke once more.

“You ladies will now be allowed two hours in which to settle in to your new accommodation. I trust you will find everything to your satisfaction. We wish you to be comfortable here. Please, take some time to refresh yourselves, take a shower, unpack, and perhaps phone your husbands to inform them of your safe arrival. At the end of the two hours I will visit each of you in turn to discuss the direction your individual treatments will take. You are all unique; your conception problems are individual and will require one-on-one consultations at all times during your stay at the clinic. Today is all about assimilation and tomorrow you will meet the clinical team who will carry out the actual procedures that we hope will be successful in helping you fulfil your dearest wishes.”

Lucia thought him one of the most considerate men she'd ever met. His voice was clam and reassuring, and she felt confident that she'd made the correct decision in responding to the advertisement.

With that, Marc bade the women follow him, and he led his multi-national cortege of ladies to their new homes away from home, in the Blenheim Wing, or 'Special Procedures Unit' as the staff at the clinic described it.