Future Pharming Ch. 02

Life gets worse for Steve, or does it?

I get that this one is a little far-fetched. I did, however, make sure it was something that 'could' happen, even with the fractional odds. No sex in this chapter.

Relax; it's just a story, people.

Back in our room, I flung my suitcase onto the bed. Then I had a thought. I needed to contact someone back home. My cell was nowhere to be found. Someone must have come into our room to collect it, while I was in Noxworthy's office. I sat on the bed and tried to rub the onset of migraine out of my temples. I had the burner phone at home, and the old laptop, that wouldn't use my IP address with the VPN connected. I'd just have to figure out how I was being surveilled when I got there.

The mini bar had little two-ounce bottles and that would help relieve the stress and tension, without getting myself drunk. I mixed two vodkas with a half-full glass of OJ.

Going over the last forty-five minutes, I determined that while they weren't willing to kidnap me, holding me here meant they had no compunction about restricting my movements back home. Would my job at Aspen still be intact? Would the feds monitor my movements and my daily routine? Would I be held in my home, or even taken to some other location? I wondered.

If they were going to hold me, I concluded, there would be nothing I could do about it, except to hope I'd be released when they were finished with Sarah. If though, I was to be allowed some freedom of movement, at home or work, then I'd need some help and a way to communicate without being heard.

I'd have to open a new email account on the old laptop. I had no idea of the feds' capabilities, maybe I'd be caught right away, and that would end badly for me. If the agents were going to monitor me electronically, that meant my home was already being prepped with video and audio equipment. I would still have a very hard time communicating with the outside world.

As I was putting my toiletries into the case, I heard the door open, and Sarah's voice calling my name.

"Who are those men outside our...?" Sarah pulled up short as she walked into our bedroom suite. She tried to keep her tone calm, but I could sense the nervousness, even before turning to face her.

She wore the look of... was that bliss? I'd seen it many times as we wrapped up an extended love-making session. So much for 'clinical' sex. Her entire face changed when she saw my expression, as I turned to fully face her. Then she saw my suitcase.

"Steven," she said, maybe asked, and then paused. "Why are you packing? Where are you going?"

When I didn't immediately respond, she added, "What have you done?"

All of the anger I'd been keeping in check came directly to the surface, and I felt like it would fly out of my every pore.

"What have you done, Sarah?" I spat indignantly. "What have you been doing the last few hours?"

"I... you..." she quietly stammered, "you know what... I'm guessing."

"Couldn't even say it, can you?" I followed. "Yes, I know. Was it good? How many times did he make you cum?" I couldn't help myself and kept going. "Were you planning to rush in and give me sloppy seconds?"

While packing, I'd played this conversation over in my head. There, at least, she was more sorrowful, gloomier, and outwardly sad about how she'd done me wrong. But that didn't happen. Her posture made it look like she'd gained one hundred pounds, as she sat heavily on the bed. I saw only the slightest remorse, only possible regret.

"I was on my way here to tell you the truth," she said. "I've tried since we got on the plane, but I couldn't find the words."

"Bullshit, Sarah!" I screamed. "You knew I'd never agree to this. So, if you're even telling the truth at all, you were going to tell me now, that it's too late. Well, guess what? Ling and Noxworthy did your dirty work for you. Imagine my surprise at becoming an unwilling cuckold while they looked at me with pity.

"They told me I had to leave," I lied. "They didn't like my consternation and weren't keen on my questions and accusations either. When I demanded they let me see you before you... did the deed, their goons surrounded me."

Sarah's face had changed yet again, as she wore a mask of horror.

"So now you're on your own," I told her.

"Please, Steven," she pleaded. "Stay. Let me talk to them. Please, I need you. I'm sorry I didn't... couldn't tell you. I know I've hurt you, but if you can put that aside for a minute, I can explain everything. I can help you!"

"Not likely, Sarah," I stated. I just stared at her like she was a stranger. In essence, she was. Sarah must have seen my hesitance as weakness, maybe a chink in the armor.

"I'm doing this for us," she reasoned. I raised an eyebrow, and she went in a different direction. "Yes, for me, too. But mostly, for us, and the world."

A thought came to mind. "So, on your tombstone," I said. "we'll engrave, 'loving wife, Sarah, fucked by sixteen guys for a month, so she could save the world.' Everyone who knows you will be so proud, especially your loving husband."

She looked down, exhaling heavily, and her hands wrestling in her lap. That's when I noticed them. I caught a heavy sigh in my throat, as tears spilled out from both eyes. I was determined not to lose it. Sarah looked up and saw my deep sadness and tears. She then followed my gaze to her left hand.

"Did you even bother to take those off?" I asked her. Sarah nodded, unable to speak.

"Well, that's something, I suppose," my grief once more was taken over by anger. "Still, it tells me that you know this is wrong, at least on some level." I held my hand out to her, palm up. "Give them to me," I demanded. "Maybe you'll get them back, and maybe you won't."

My wife shrieked but relented after only a slight hesitation.

"I have to go, Sarah," I explained with less emotion. "A plane is waiting, and honestly, we can't have a conversation right now, because I can't stand to even look at you. I might still be around in January, but I might not. I need you to understand something: having sex with strangers for a month and expecting me to be on board with that, isn't even the worst thing you've done to me. Not by a long shot."

Sarah's look was one of perplexity, mixed with what I determined was selfishness. I'd given her a lot to digest in just a few minutes, but I could see it in her eyes; she believed she was doing something good, noble, or maybe even heroic. The horrified look had to do with my stunning reaction, as her eyes told me, she wondered if she knew me at all.

"If you pack and leave with me right now," I said, "we might be able to salvage something. Don't think, Sarah, just do it."

"I... I can't," she looked like I'd asked her to cut off an arm. "I have to see this through. I'm... sorry."

"Well, there it is," I said, shutting my suitcase. "Goodbye, Sarah."

Noxworthy was there in the lobby. So were his driver and his goon squad. "I see you've made up your mind then," he said, rather than asked. "For what it's worth, I think you're making a terrible mistake."

I just looked at his outstretched hand but didn't reach for it. Noxworthy pulled it back, without showing insult, and said, "Safe travels Mr. Boswell."

One of his security men sat in the back of the town car, for the ten-minute ride to the airstrip. He made it clear that federal agents would be waiting for me when I departed and they would escort me to my home and explain what my limitations would be until Sarah came back, at the end of the month.

"I told her not to come home," I lied spitefully. "So, then what?"

The security guy shrugged and told me I might want to rethink that. Then he told me to ask the FBI agents when I got home. So, this was the FBI. Fortunately for me, it wasn't BlackRock or some other government-paid mercenaries.

The private jet was fueled for a direct flight to my hometown airport. Only one other crew member was on board - the flight attendant. A hairy man of a flight attendant, whose biceps stretched the fabric of his uniform, came close to the diameter of my calf. He wasn't there to only serve water and peanuts.

I didn't care. I leaned back into my seat, trying to get comfortable, and closed my eyes. Knowing sleep would likely not come, I started dealing with the shock of the wreckage of my life with Sarah. I could start making plans if I could get over that and the emotional whirlwind, and I'd need to do so before we landed.

My wife, a once loving wife, had betrayed me and withheld important information from me that may have saved our marriage. She certainly had her motives, now that I knew the truth about her mother. Still, she showed no respect or trust in me, her husband. I wasn't like some men when it came to grey areas. I'd given my all to Sarah, and by my way of thinking, she not only hadn't reciprocated, but she'd also actually shat on my love.

But Sarah would have to wait. She'd be gone all month, and I had more pressing problems when I got home. I'd be under protective custody or some other form of surveillance, and my job - my livelihood - was also likely at stake. I'd have to first see how bad it was...

Exiting the plane, it was easy to spot the two agents. First, they were looking right at me, and no one else. Second, they were dressed just like all those fuckers who interviewed us every month at Aspen. Now that my fears were realized and standing before me, I felt added rage for my wife. She'd caused this too. With a heavy sigh, I headed straight for them.

"What's all this?" asking as if I didn't already know.

"Mr. Boswell," the man said, "please come with us." Both agents presented their badges before I could ask. They were all business.

The man, Agent Tom Wilcox, flashed his fairly quickly. For the few seconds I saw it, it looked legit. The female, Agent Gabriela Fontes, let hers linger a moment or two longer, maybe in a gesture of kindness. I quickly dismissed that. They could be playing some sort of 'good cop - bad cop' on me.

"Am I under arrest?" I figured I'd get that out of the way. "Where are we going."

Wilcox looked irritated that I was going to play it that way, but screw him, I had a right to know. Fontes looked at him, almost admonishingly, before jumping in to answer.

"You are not under arrest, Mr. Boswell," she said softly but firmly. "We're here to escort you to your home."

"I see," I responded sarcastically. "Not really under arrest then, but unofficially."

She smiled while Wilcox gave me a dirty look. I decided then, that I would spend significant time trying to get under his skin. The wrinkle in the fold, so to speak.

Both agents ignored my comment and asked if I had luggage. I nodded and they bookended me to the carousel. Twenty minutes later, we were in a government-issued black sedan, complete with tinted windows. Neither agent was very talkative. I figured the drive allowed me to find out how much of my sad tale they knew about.

"So, how long am I going to have the extra shadow?" I said, getting right into it. "Should I make up my spare room?"

Wilcox gave me a quick, stern look through the rearview. "That depends on you Boswell," he answered as if expecting my first question. "And how much trouble you are. Let me make it clear. You work at Aspen Industries. You have access to sensitive information. Your wife decided to be a good Samaritan, and you've gone batshit. That's enough for us be your shadow, until such time that we've ascertained you are not a threat to the public or the medicines they receive."

Well, there it was. Noxworthy had angled to make me a disgruntled biochemical engineer, capable of lashing out against... what? Humanity? Because Sarah was spreading her legs for some young stuff? I decided to play along.

"I see," I said stoically. "At least the DOJ sent only half morons. That's for giving me the score. Let's do day one. I'm going to go home, eat, and start making a list about splitting everything my wife... ex-wife and I own. I'm going to drink two glasses of single malt scotch then I'm going to check my email and social media accounts. Any problem with that?"

"No," it was Fontes's turn to talk. "All perfectly fine. You will not be able to respond to anyone by email or your social accounts. After all, you're on a private island until January second."

"I'll need my phone," I replied, undeterred. "If I don't keep up with Golf Rival, I'll lose my championship status, and that will get you and the FBI sued."

Fontes turned and smiled at me then, but the moment faded quickly. We drove the rest of the way in silence.

The house felt cold and empty. We didn't live in a snow belt, but temperatures in our area were still damned cold in the winter. I brought the temperature up quickly, as I busied myself unpacking. I made plenty of glancing gazes around each room, that I'm sure Wilcox and Fontes could see from the privacy of their sedan. Yes, it was parked across the street and down one house. I was looking at every picture - every light socket - as a microphone or camera. Finally, I decided to relax and start drinking. Let them watch. I wouldn't be able to do anything until the next day anyway.

A small bit of a beginning plan started to formulate as I tossed and turned in bed that night. When I couldn't get back to sleep around five-forty-five in the morning I got up, showered, and dressed for work. No one came to the door, so I guess they might let this play out. I had breakfast, opened the front door to grab the paper, and checked on my guests. The sedan was there, although I couldn't see through the tinted glass. I simply saluted.

I read or pretended to read the events of the past few days, then at seven fifteen, I walked out to my car. The sedan followed me at a distance. That confirmed my biggest fears. I'd be monitored for at least a month, and any ideas I came up with regarding Sarah and Strategem, would need to be with that end in mind.

I walked in the employee entrance, after providing facial recognition, like any other day. I made my way immediately toward a familiar face - Daniel Corvallis. He was one of our group of four. The shocked look on his face said a lot.

"Steven," he said with concern, "what are you doing here?" Then his face displayed a certain understanding. "We can't talk here. Shake hands, and then walk past. Call me on the burner later tonight. Nine-thirty exactly. I'll be waiting."

Now the little hairs on my neck were standing on end. I marched past, and down the corridor towards the management offices. Dr. Locksdale, my boss, was sitting with another colleague when he saw me. His face went white, and he quickly excused the other manager.

"Steven," apparently astonished to see me. "Aren't you supposed to be at the Strategem Island?"

"I am," I told him, reaching out for his hand. It was clammy. "Some unforeseen developments have occurred. My wife, Sarah, is still there, so I thought I'd come back to work early, give myself something to relieve the boredom."

Locksdale considered what I said for far too long. He was clearly trying to plan his words in just the right way. I forced a puzzled expression - an expression that only ten minutes previous would have been exactly that. Now, though, I had a pretty clear picture of how this was going to go.

"Well that," he began, "would have worked out splendidly, except that we've already put a temp to work on your research. Waiting a month would have set us way behind, Steven. As you know, were quite diligent in getting the new vaccine contract. I hear they are very close to getting the rubber stamp."

"So, just reinstate me early," I wasn't going to make it easy, and perhaps, even make him uncomfortable enough to slip up and give me some intel that I could use later.

"I can't," his pause was even longer that time. "That's not possible - meaning that you are on indefinite leave. I'm sorry, Steven."

"For what reason?" I pressed him. "Because I went on vacation for a month?"

"No," he replied dryly. "And I cannot speak as to why." He stopped, thinking of how to soften the blow, and maybe get me out of his office. "I can say there is an ongoing investigation, and you're supposed to be out on leave until January third, so just take your time off, and we'll call you in the new year, hopefully, to find a resolution."

I knew I wouldn't get anything more from the tool. He'd already been talked to, and probably rehearsed his conversation. I decided to leave him with a threat.

"I don't know what this is all about," I spat, "but if you or anyone else means to impugn my reputation, I and my lawyer will have your balls." He looked at me with pity, as if I was badly missing the big picture.

I went back to my car, eyeing the agents all the way. I played a little game with them, driving back to my home, speeding up suddenly, turning a corner before they could recover, and pulling into a fast-food lot. By the time I got to the order box, they were parked right up front by the exit. I ate my burger parked in their blind spot, right behind and left of their vehicle.

Right after, I stopped at a grocery and picked up some of the essentials I needed. I made sure to take my time and got plenty of booze. An idea came to me during my shopping, and so I stopped off at yet one more place to purchase a few items I'd need to restart an old hobby.

After a wonderful steak dinner, complete with a loaded baked potato and grilled asparagus, I settled into my basement. The first task was to get the bins off the shelf, which contained not only all my miniature trains and landscapes but also conveniently held my old laptop. I set up the tables that took up half the room, and a small workstation that was four inches shorter than the other tables, that fit near the main controls, and slightly underneath. I was careful to set up everything in logical order, leaving the laptop in the plastic tub, until I was at the point of putting out some of the tools and other paraphernalia used to repair/ rebuild trains, tracks, and the like. It was wrapped in a towel, like all the other parts, so it would be hard for the agents to notice, even if they went back through whatever tapes my surveillance was recorded onto.

At nine twenty-five, I discreetly pulled the phone from the same bin, slid it into my pocket, and went upstairs to use my bathroom. I was only hoping the FBI wasn't spying on my toilet habits.

Daniel called right on time. I told him about what transpired at Strategem, what Sarah had done to me, and who was watching me. I gave him my banking information, and where in my home to find the key to my security deposit box. I knew I was putting a lot of faith into a friendly co-worker who wasn't up to par with say, a family member. Still, I was an only child and my parents had moved to New Zealand six years previously.

Finally, we spoke about an idea that was formulating in my head. A way to replace Strategem's batch recipes with placebos, rendering them ineffective.

That was extreme, and I knew if caught, the risk would far outweigh the reward. After all, I simply had a lying, wayward wife - that was doing the same thing as other wives on that island with their spouses' blessings. Daniel also pointed that out and told me to consider what I was doing, and that it might be over the top, where his assistance would be required.

I mentioned the laptop, in terms of something memorable, we'd all done a few years ago. He already had my old email address, a Yahoo! account I hadn't used in at least five years. I was hoping he would put two and two together.

I did turn around and take a piss, and by the time I made my way back downstairs, there were my two agent shadows, standing at the foot of the stairway.

"Give me the phone," Agent Wilcox demanded with zero emotion. The tone clearly said, don't even try to deny it. It made me realize that any attempt to go outside their guardrails might have a devastating effect on me and my life. That caused sudden anger.