CHAPTER 1
February 2
My name is David Leone, and this is my story. I live inWashington, DC and it was exactly one year ago today whenI discovered a method to transform the molecular bonds, in away that we have never been able to control, creating thingspreviously impossible. Most people found this hard to believe,but I managed to get one organization to believe in my method,Fornsworth Inc., a small research firm in Virginia.
Four years ago I lost my mother and my father in a deadlycar crash, only 2 miles from my house in Baltimore, Maryland,leaving me and my sister alone when I was only 19. I wasappointed her legal guardian until she was 18.
I had just begun my chemistry honors thesis, on molecularbonding when my parents were killed. A few months laterFornsworth Inc. came along, after hearing about a theory I wasdeveloping. Their owner and funder, a billionaire living in theheart of Virginia gave me a "small" cash grant of 1.5 milliondollars, plus an extra half million a year, to construct my ownlab, pending I could turn this theory real. All I had to do waskeep researching. With this money, I quit my 3 jobs, droppedout of university, and began working for Fornsworth, and abouta year later, I was fully funded, to purchase my own area to callhome. So I bought an old building, in DC, built my lab in thebasement and rented out the 6 apartments on the floors above.After completing the initial research, there was very little for meto do in the way of working with my theory, and aside from afew new applications I would create with it every few weeks, itled dormant.
Before Fornsworth funded my project, I was working oncampus, working at my parents' old store, and doing tutoringon the side, just to try and break even. With the money theygave, I closed my parents' store and moved it with us to DC, aspart of their memory, and I still do what I can to keep it openwhenever I can, but that usually consists of 9-5 Monday toFriday, and sometimes Saturdays.
Just six months ago, I was awarded the Nobel Peace Prizefor the work I had done, and in addition to the initial work Iwas doing to keep my funding flowing, I was now expected togo even further, and cure every disease on this planet.
Now my sister, Janie, and I live happily here. When nottending the store, I am working hard away at my pet project.I had to reduce the hours to about 40 a week so that I couldattend my projects as well.
You are reading this because I have decided to make ajournal following my endeavors, as my investors are coming in2 weeks and I want to record every moment of what I believewill be humanity's biggest change. I was told that although myideas are great, they are useless if I don't produce. Lucky for mehowever, I recently made a major breakthrough allowing mecomplete control of anything I wanted. Before, I only couldchange the bonding properties, but now, I can almost play god.I would need another million dollars to make this idea from justa prototype blueprint to a working design, but for now, I at leasthave something to show them.
"David, come on, I've got to be to school in an hour, hurry up!"The text on my phone from Janie reads.
I pick up my cup of coffee, lay down the blue prints andwalk upstairs to our apartment, seeing Janie almost ready to go,cell phone in hand.
"Yeah, yeah, hold on a minute, I'm on the way to anotherbreakthrough." Although the world may view my work asmiracles, to Janie, it's just another thing her big brother does,and it doesn't amaze her anymore.
"Whatever, just hurry up, I'm meeting Ja—, I mean ..."She stops herself.
"Oh, okay, so Jake is the unlucky guy!" I say, with only ahint of sarcasm in my voice. She has had a friend Jake for awhile and recently, she has been spending much more time withhim, so I put two and two together. "Well lets BOTH go meethim!" I say with no actual desire to meet her new boyfriend, butI enjoy teasing her.
Although technically, I do play the parental role in ourrelationship, I don't want to be a dad, and instead, I'd just ratherbe her brother. She's a smart girl, she's sensible, and despite herraging hormones, I do still trust her.
When I make the comment about her new boyfriend, sheimmediately gets flustered. This look is even more exaggeratedon her, as it stands out against her platinum blonde hair, andher steel blue eyes. Despite her tall, slender figure, she can stilllook pretty mean.
"Oh no, no way! You can drive me there, but then I get outof the car, and you drive home, and get back to your sciencestuff."
"Prototype, to cure terminal illnesses" I correct her, assnarky as possible "And I think I might stay for a bit. After all, Iam friends with the physics teacher, though she'll probably be alittle late, so I might just hang with you. Come on let's go!"
"David, you are staying in that car! Get out of it and so helpme God." the demanding tone she uses when she can't tell I'mbeing sarcastic is ringing louder now, so I chuckle and let it go.
"Alright lover-girl, let's go."
When we both get in the car, we end up getting stuck intraffic, as we do every morning. Despite the beautiful view Ilucked into when I bought this old building, I didn't quite planfor all the interruptions of the traffic. Looks like another policeconvoy, so I turn on the radio and I am greeted by the toohappy voice of the morning news anchor.
"The President has called a meeting with the entire UScongress, as well as his cabinet, to discuss a two trillion dollaruranium exploration and potential mining project just north ofDeath Valley, California. State governors from both California andNevada are campaigning against this proposition as it creates a riskto the wildlife in the area ..."
Irritated by yet another cash cow, based off of nothing morethan possibilities, I change the radio station to Janie's.
"Maybe you can explain this to me, they can afford acouple trillion to pull off this mining joke, something that willprobably hurt the environment and not benefit people at all,but when I ask for a measly one million dollars, they shoot medown like bin Laden's private jet. I'm moving to China."
"Yeah, well everyone wants money, and everyone but yougets it. You know I know nothing about this." Janie says witha smile, before turning up the music. It's her way of saying thatI'm ranting again.
As we pull up to the school, she seems eager to jump outearly, and the second I stop, she hurriedly says "Bye, See youafter school, you can go now, bye!"
"Yeah, remember, keep it PG13!" I yell to her as she leavesthe car. Not screaming, but enough so people around mighthear.
When she shuts the door and she turns around trying tohide her embarrassment, she takes off to her group of friendsoutside the high school's main entrance, which is my signal toturn my attention back to the road.
I look in my mirror as I turn to pull out into traffic, and Isee a couple black suburban with red and blue lights flashing,a little ways behind me. This clearly is another dignitary orgovernment official on his way to that big meeting. I know it'snot the president, as it seems like most of DC gets shut downfor those, and fortunately, it looks like this is just another VIPtoo important for traffic laws.
As the convoy passes me, I notice something unusual aboutit, the fact that in the middle is a vehicle flying the small hoodflags of a military officer.
Oh well, that's my tax dollars at work, I think to myself. Asthey pass on by, I merge into traffic and head home, trying toride the wake of the convoy as far as I can.
The rest of the ride home is quite uneventful, as is truefor most mornings. It isn't until I reach the set of street lightsacross from my building. As I sit in the front of the line oftraffic—thanks to the VIP too good for traffic laws—waitingfor the long red light to change, my pocket starts vibrating. Iquickly pop out my cell phone and open it up to see that I havegotten a text message. Checking the light again to see it is stillred, I open the message, and see it is from a call back number of911, with nothing in the message area.
Text messages aren't a rarity for me, since I get many a daywith my teenage sister who still doesn't have a license, but I can'tsay I have ever gotten one from 911, and usually from what I'veheard, they still don't take text messages, let alone send them.Before I can respond, or do anything to the text, I hear a hornbehind me, and I look up realizing that the light has turnedgreen.
The usually short drive to my garage seems lengthenedten-fold as my mind races to figure out why I'm getting such asstrange message. When I pull into the garage, I park my car, andwalk outside, to call 911 in hopes of understanding why theysent me a message. It could be something like a system glitch, orthere could be an emergency of sorts, I don't know, but it neverhurts to check. I punch in the emergency number and hit talk.
"Office of Unified Communications, please state youremergency" The almost robotic male operator says to me.
"Hello, my name is David Leone, and I just received a textmessage with a call back number that was 911. The message hadnothing in the message area, just an empty box. Do you knowwhy this happened?"
He drags out his words in an obvious attempt to search upthe problem "Uh, Mr. Leone, I'm getting that you're by theWhite House, is this right?"
"I'm at my apartment building, across from the WhiteHouse. Just so you know, I don't require any police or anything,I just want to know why you texted me." I reply.
"Mr. Leone, I am checking into it right now, but it appearsthe White House emergency system has gone under a slightmalfunction, alerted us, and uh, actually, I am looking at thecall list right now, and fourteen more people have reportedthese texts as well. I'm sending someone over to figure out theproblem now, and" he pauses for a second while he seems tobe taking something in, "Oh wait, I just received an alertfrom my supervisor that a small electrical surge caused one ofour dispatching computers to malfunction, and activated anemergency alert to all mobile phones in the region of the whitehouse. Usually when this happens however, there is a messageinput by the operator, but since this was automated, that's thereason why. There is nothing to be worried about. Have a safeday."
After thanking him, I hang up the phone and start to openshop on the main floor. It is edging towards nine o'clock now,so I am expecting Mr. Wilson to come down, just as he doeseach morning, to pick up some breakfast and have a chat withme before heading off to the park.
Mr. Wilson is an elderly man who knew my parents beforeI was born. My father was born in DC, and lived here half hislife. Mr. Wilson lost his wife and his son in a plane crash, notten years ago and since then, was living at a senior's home.When I received my grant, and bought this place, I called himup, and moved him into the third floor apartment, just abovemine, rent-free as he cannot work anymore, and doesn't makeenough from his pension to afford rent in the city.
He is quite the fascinating man: he is a 72 year old formermetro police officer, and he has quite the knack for birds. Asa former SWAT team member, Mr. Wilson has quite thestature, standing at least six-foot-five and aside from a slightlimp and the wrinkles, looks just as intimidating as he did inthe pictures from years ago. A few on-the-job injuries have lefthim much weaker than his youth, and that is about the onlything that has changed from the stories I was told as a child.Just like clockwork, Mr. Wilson steps right into my shop fromthe back door to the fire stairwell. I can tell he was quite thehandsome man in his prime, but since the loss of his son andwife, combined with the wear and tear of his job, he's withereddown to a respectable old gentleman.
"Why good morning Mr. Leone, and how are you thismorning?" he says with a gravelly bass in his voice.
"'Morning Mr. Wilson, I'm fine, just dropped Janie offat school. Here for your bagel before heading off to the parktoday?"
"Actually I think I will be staying home today; my nephewis coming into visit me." He says quite gleefully, as he doesn'tusually get any visitors, with most his family living in Maine.
"Well that's great to hear. Here's your bagel, and I will seeyou later on today I'm sure" I say as he waves a thank-you andwalks backup to the apartment floors.
Before the foot traffic gets too heavy, and people startcoming in for their coffee break, I decide to go into thebackroom, and continue drawing up the plans for my sponsors.
CHAPTER 2
February 3
My project representative from Fornsworth is due here in justtwo days, so I have to make sure everything works fine in myprototype and is neat and tidy in my presentation. Today is acool Saturday and Janie will be in bed until at least noon. Nocomplaints from me; it means I can clean up and get ready inpeace.
I will be opening the store at 10:00AM today, an hourlater than weekdays, but only because of the increased mediapresence since these government meetings have continuedlonger than expected. It's only 6:30 now so I have three morehours to myself. I think I will have a little downtime thoughand start working on my project at 7:30.
After pouring a cup of coffee, and putting my bread inthe toaster, I turn on the TV, flicking to the news, in hopesof finding more about what's on the go with this mining planthey've got. To my surprise though, there is no story, but insteadwhat looks like a burning building, with the Caption "DC HighSchool Explosion"
I check again in shock to make sure this is indeed a newschannel, and I lean forward, looking at the aerial shot from thehelicopter above. The building is completely destroyed; nothingbut a crater blown in the middle of it, with just corner walls leftstanding, blackened by the raging red inferno.
Fire trucks and firefighters dot the outskirts of the blaze,while their futile attempt to control the fire and extinguishit goes without any reward. There is thick smoke rising upstarting to block out the image, eerily similar to what the entireworld watched on 9/11, when it switches to a ground camera, Irecognize the building.
I put down my coffee and turn up the TV immediately.
"What you are seeing now is what is left of Foxhound HighSchool, a new high school, which was opened only last year herein DC. The details are still coming in, but 911 calls came in afterwhat is believed to be an explosion that happened at the center ofthe school. I was speaking to a witness earlier who declined to be oncamera, but he said that the school rumbled, and collapsed before afireball engulfed the center of the building.
"The DCFD is still combating the fire after 2 hours and aresaying that they fire is still unable to be contained at this time.Superintendent Hill of the DCFD said that they are unsure of anycause at this time, and Police say they do not believe this to be aterror attack, but are not ruling anything out at this time. Almostimmediately, police sealed off the area, closing it to non-emergencypersonnel."
I look at the screen and watch as what looks to be part ofthe front wall of Janie's school stands charred to almost pitchblack and the red flames visible through holes where windowsonce used to be. I don't even know what to think at this point.
Despite, my obvious confusion towards what is happening,I decide it is best to tell Janie now. I go into her room and wakeher up. When place my hand on her shoulder, and nudge herawake, she responds like all teenagers, not too pleased to beawoken.
"What do you want? What time is it?" She mumbles tome as she looks at the clock. "Janie, I was just watching thenews, and your school was destroyed in an explosion early thismorning" I tell her bluntly and straight to the point.
I watch silently as her eyes widen, and she pulls herself up,obviously shocked by the news I just shared. After telling herit's on the TV, she pulls the sheets down and comes out to theliving room with me to watch the TV, grabbing only her cellphone from the bedside table ...
